To all Literotica readers, all events in this story are purely a work of fiction inspired by my own fertile imagination. All characters featured in this story are over 18 years old.
Please vote and feel free to comment.
Lots of thanks to Lihle Nikosi for all her help in the editing and rewriting process from my earlier drafts.
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The first time it happened it was almost as an after thought. I'm not the type of person who would normally dream of taking advantage of a drunk unconscious woman. My parents had raised me to be very respectful of others.
I'm far from being the proverbial "nice guy" (I have my good and bad points just like everyone else), but I was definitely the kind of guy who would go get a glass of water to help sober up the drunk 30-something milf who was no longer used to drinking loads and had gone a little overboard with the shots during a girls night out. However, sometimes rational thought totally leaves you as the thrill of doing something deliciously depraved takes over. And once it happens a first time, you find yourself hooked.
Before I go any further, let me tell you a little about myself. I am about 5' 11 and in my late 30s. I look after myself with a good diet and regular trips to the gym, as well as cycling to work. So, despite my age, I have the body of a far younger man; pecs and washboard abs. Think 100m sprinter rather than bodybuilder and you'll have some idea of what I look like.
I'm far from ugly, but not movie-star gorgeous. Ruggedly handsome is how one of my female friends described me. Like so many others, I was awkward and geeky as a teenager, but blossomed at university, channeling that awkwardness into a charming personality that was very effective especially when I flashed my cheeky smile. This, combined with the good West Indian genes I inherited from my parents and an energetic "lust for life" attitude means people often mistakenly believe that I'm 25 or 26. This comes in very handy for the hobby I have outside of my day job - I'm a DJ at the weekend.
I love being a DJ; I truly love music and always have a good time behind the decks, blending song after song to control and lift the mood of the crowd. There are few greater feelings in this world than hearing the crowd cheer over the volume of the music in club as they appreciate the mix or a new song blasting through the speakers.
There are other perks too; free drinks is a definite plus, especially with the price the clubs charge. And there is a certain prestige associated with being a DJ; some guys want to be you as they are envious of the jet setting DJ lifestyle they think I lead, while some guys just appreciate the skill and technical ability on show. And the female of the species? Well a lot of the time they flirt with me. A LOT!
Apart from the festive period, there are several times of the year that I love as you can always guarantee loads of women will be out. One of these times of the year is Freshers's Fortnight, the name given to the first two weeks of the University term in the UK.
It is that wondrous time of the year where thousands of people nationwide are experiencing the thrill of living away from mum and dad; no curfew, no rules and now they had turned 18, total freedom to go out, binge drink and have lots of one night stands in their rooms on campus (or taken up a dark alley, but that's a story for another time).
The term "Fuck-a-Fresher" was always very popular at this time of year for good reason.
I remember experiencing the thrill and same sense of freedom when I was their age and envy them slightly, for the years of fun and parties they have in front of them. That being said though, I wouldn't change anything in my life for a minute.
It was a typical Friday night at Mockingbird nightclub, the preferred club of choice for the two university campuses nearby. I was behind the decks as usual, spinning my tunes on the raised stage. Unlike a lot of modern DJs who use laptops, I'm still very old skool as a lot of my set is done on CDs and vinyl.
The location of the DJ booth gave me the perfect view of the entire dance-floor and I can see lots of new faces in the crowd. I smiled to myself and thanked heaven once again for female freshers, with their skimpy outfits and tight bodies; tall ones, short ones, slim ones, curvy ones, shy ones, awkward ones, happy ones and most importantly, drunk ones.
I had been the regular Friday night DJ at Mockingbird for the past 5 years. In that time I had developed a sixth sense as to what music works best with the crowd. It had got to the point where it was becoming slightly tedious and mundane. As I said before, I love DJing, but it's only a hobby, something to pass the time at the weekends. I don't do it for the money. I know I could quit at any time and if it wasn't for the free drinks and (minor) celebrity status I enjoyed as the resident DJ, I probably would have. Anyway, I digress.
As I select another song to put on the decks, I check the time on my iPhone. 1.27am. Phew! Only 30 mins to go. Tonight had dragged for some reason. The crowd had been enthusiastic as always. I had been given the eye a lot throughout the night but for whatever reason, my heart wasn't really in it. And even if I had been in the mood, this brings up one of the most frustrating things about being a DJ.
Unless someone was extremely forward (and/or slutty) I always had to wait until the end of the night before I could lay on the charm and chat someone up. It had taken me a while to get used to the dichotomy of being a DJ who would get loads of attention but not be able to do anything about it. Unless I wanted to abandon my post, I would have to wait until near the end of my set. It was no biggie, though. There's always at least a handful of hotties hanging around at the end night.
On this occasion there had been one saving grace during my set. Throughout the night I had sporadically seen a stunning creature on the dance-floor; she was medium height, about 5' 6, strawberry blonde hair in curly ringlets that touched her shoulders and covered her face while she danced with beautiful smooth pale skin. But it was what she was wearing (or almost wearing) that had caught my attention most.
She had on a slightly loose, quite small white singlet that easily showed off the black bra underneath. A big anime cat's face adorned the front reminding me of the year I spent teaching in Japan. Faded blue denim shorts and sandals completed the outfit. Not the typical September clubbing outfit you would expect, but I was hardly complaining.
It was clear that she was enjoying herself and was steadily getting drunker as the night progressed. Every time I spotted her on the dance-floor she had a cocktail in her hand, sipping deeply through a straw, swinging her slim hips in time to the music. I found it amusing watching her brush off every clumsy attempt made by the boys desperate to get her attention; she was definitely only interested in dancing and drinking. There had been the occasional glance in my direction, which I always made sure was greeted with my biggest, cheekiest smile. She always giggled at this, before turning away and getting lost in the music once more.
That was earlier.
As I began to slow the tempo of the music into some 90s RnB slow jams, I scanned the dance floor for any sign of lil miss Curly. Gone. Nowhere to be seen.
"Ah well," I thought, "Not my night I suppose."
