As always, all characters in the story are above the age of 18.
CHAPTER 5 - A NEW NORMAL
I feel this... thing in me.
It's a thing with no name, which makes it hard for me to even conceptualize it. It's not a univocal thing, either: it's made of many parts.
The mist, with its pretty colors. The orgasmic joy of self-abnegation. The feeling that I'm split, like a part of my awareness exists somewhere other than here, producing this sense of wrongness. This dread at the pit of my stomach.
I feel like...
I feel like that part of me is disappearing.
Maybe that's a good thing. I used to butt heads with everybody. For example, meeting Derek in the hallways between classes would immediately cause friction, we'd snap at each other. Now, though... what happens now is much better, right? More pleasant.
Now, he looks up from his phone when he hears my boots thumping against the floor.
"Pheebs," he says, casual as ordering coffee. "Bathroom. Five minutes."
A part of me, the split part of me, considers that I haven't even had time to grab my chem textbook. It suggests several colorful responses to his request, but those are not acceptable anymore, they're abrasive, they make people unhappy, they assign no importance to their needs.
Alternatively, it suggests to just respond that I'm busy. But wouldn't that be incredibly selfish?
Besides, that part of me has one fundamental limitation: you can't argue against colors. Especially colors as pretty as these ones... looping on themselves, like pastel clouds, spiralling before my eyes...
I should feel proud. To him now, summarily asking me into the bathroom so that I can suck his dick is as normal as getting a snack from the vending machine. Once, I was so irksome that people approached me with caution, but now Derek and I are practically close friends.
Close enough that I take as much of his cum into me as I can. That's the really special type of friendship. Pure trust. Pure faith that he can rely on me when he needs me.
So, of course, I ignore those ridiculous intrusive thoughts from bad ol' me. That Phoebe is gone, and we're all better for it. I'm in my mentally healthy era, and I'm not going to falter. I'll get on my knees for him, suck his cock to completion, swallow all his cum, and prove how amazing a friend I can be!
"Of course! Anything you need, Derek."
There. That really is so much better. Otherwise, why would it make me feel so...
Pacified?
***
I do feel burdened. Just a little bit.
It's been like this for a few weeks. I'm Derek's perma-booty call, of course, which is totally fine. He's no longer even amazed by it, which is a great sign that I really am changing - people no longer expect me to be selfish, right?
People, plural, because Tyler and Marty have been just as demanding. Marty is always shy and hesitant at first, but once we get going, he can't seem to get enough, cumming embarrassingly fast and then immediately getting hard again for more.
Tyler is rougher, more entitled, bending me over desks or pushing me to my knees without preamble.
Sylvia...
I'm a dyke. She says so. Why else would I enjoy eating her out? Not like her, she's straight, she just enjoys having a warm mouth and tongue available at her beck and call, and why not?
After that first time, she's been insatiable, which I suppose means I've done a good job. Yay!
She calls me to her place in the evenings every time she gets a chance, demanding I service her orally. She sits on my face, grinding her wet cunt against my mouth until she's satisfied.
But the reversal of our polarity is the thing that truly makes me squirm inside a little.
She was in my shadow for so long. I can only imagine what catharsis she must feel now, getting to summarily push my head between her thighs every time she wants to shut me up...
It all adds up, though. Trying to accommodate four different friends is not easy, I juggle as many balls in the air as I can, and sacrifice my personal time whenever it's necessary to smooth things over.
I have to be strategic about everything. If Derek wants me during lunch, I need to make sure I can still meet Tyler for our post-class "relaxation" sessions. If Sylvia calls me up late at night, I have to calculate how much sleep I'll lose and whether I can still function for class in the morning.
And that's why I do feel burdened. Just a bit!
I mean, it's normal, right? To be utterly exhausted from constantly servicing the wants and needs of my friends. And I'm sure this level of fatigue is totally typical for college students these days.
As it turns out, it takes a lot of energy to be a good, selfless person. Back when I was a selfish prick, I had no idea helping others would feel so good, yes, but I also had no idea it would be this hard. I was so immature. Now I know what being an adult is all about.
Further complicating my situation... word is beginning to spread.
It started with just giggles, but it was always a matter of time before someone took the courage to step forward and just ask. And that encouraged everyone else.
I don't know who of the original four let the rumor spread, but it doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Maybe Derek bragged to someone after one of fucking me, or perhaps Sylvia let it slip that the tables have turned and she's bossing me around these days. Tyler could have nonchalantly mentioned it, or even Marty in a moment of peer-pressured confession.
The source is irrelevant because the outcome is the same.
It's a good thing, I tell myself, that more and more people are updating their mental models of me. They now think of me as a good person, someone who is willing to go the extra mile for others. This new reputation makes me feel proud... sometimes. But it also comes with additional, err, logistical complications.
Because now, I have to deal with the unexpected.
A few weeks after the first rumors, it's not just Derek or Marty slipping me notes between lectures. An older girl I've never spoken to corners me by the vending machines, her eyes darting left and right like she's expecting a prank any second. "Heard you like to... help people out," she says. "Can I, uh, get in on that action?"
I don't even know her name when, later, she fists her hand in my hair, grinding my face against the crotch of her jeans in the girls' bathrooms.
Then there's the time a guy from the rugby team stops me in the quad, his voice low and conspiratorial as he asks if the rumors are true. Before I can answer, he invites me to a party at his frat house, saying there'll be plenty of opportunities for me to "have fun".
I often find myself on my knees in bathroom stalls, orally servicing multiple peers in succession. And sometimes, just when I think I'm finished, more classmates arrive.
There's a line for me, I thought, the first time I saw that happen. I wasn't sure exactly how to feel about that. In many ways, I'm still not sure.
It's just so much sex. Some days I feel really drained, yet I keep going because this is what I've chosen, isn't it? To walk the path of selflessness. I guess I didn't really expect that path would result in me spending so much time on my knees in the bathroom, but hey, it's easy to be kind on the things you already like.
Yes, the tiles are cold, and I hate the way that seems to seep through the fabric of my jeans and into my kneecaps. They're numb, too, from all the time I spend like this, and the combination is altogether unpleasant...
But what's one person's discomfort, set against the pleasure of so many?
I suck one cock after another. A sneaker presses into my back as someone roughly pulls my hair. Hands cup my breasts or rub against my cheeks, and I lean into the touch. I gag and sputter.
Rough hands grope my breasts, pinch my nipples through my shirt, and I moan like a wanton slut. And when the boys are done, I say thank you, come back any time.
I lick cunts, too. Girls are less forward and aggressive, but those that do step forward pretty quickly adjust to my selflessness, which delights Sylvia to no end: I'm getting more practice at carpet munching, after all, and she only stands to benefit.
Years and years of reputation as the too-cool-for-school tough gal are being destroyed. My new reputation is that of a sex-addict that's always down to fuck whoever asks.
That's an improvement, right?
It must be, because it gives me the same warm fuzzy feelings that generosity always does. Logically, I never refuse anyone. I take load after load down my throat or across my face, I suckle clits like my life depends on it, and every time the split in me gives me that dread at the pit of my stomach, the mist closes in again.
This is good. This is right. I'm attentive to people's feelings.
Wants and needs...
Even when I'm not actively engaged in a sexual act, I'm fielding their constant messages. My phone buzzes incessantly with new demands, new "requests" for my time and body.
I cut back on sleep, I give up my hobbies, I try and find as much room and energy as I can to be helpful and kind. But squaring the circle is not possible.
My coursework suffers, which sucks, because I'm letting down my professors, but I can't bring myself to prioritize it over so many direct demands.
At home, too, I do as many chores as I can, and I do my utmost to be nice and helpful to Chris. That's its own reward, really -- my parents are so happy with me, and my brother and I have gone the longest stretch ever without fighting. It's good, it really is.
But it's exhausting, both physically and emotionally. There are moments when I'm running on empty, my body sore and used, my mind numb. In those moments, I'm tempted to say no, to put my own needs first for once. But I never do. That's old Phoebe's way of thinking, and I'm not that person anymore.
I don't want to be.
At least when I retreat to my room at night, I can savor a few precious moments alone with my thoughts. It's my one true reprieve, the last little island of split me, the part of me that exists self-referentially, and not for others.
