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I was a little hesitant about entering the portal to the after-party in my current sartorial splendor. My outfit for this semi-formal occasion consisted of a man's well-worn tank top that hung loosely from my sweaty and bruised shoulders and barely concealed my 34Cs, and what part of my sweaty cleavage or rounded tops of my freely bouncing tits that were not slipping their oversized cottony coverup, could be plainly discerned as my pointy nipples- fresh from the vans air-conditioning- were hard enough to etch glass. I was also adorned in droopy, grey flannel sweatpants that were wrinkled, torn and stained. And my feet were dirty and bare because even though I still carried my battered four-inch spiked heels in my hands, they just didn't seem the right touch to set-off my outfit. The remaining tattered and battered remnants of my dress, stockings and undies were balled-up in my purse, though I feared that they were way beyond being saved.
It was the legendary Sir Walter Raleigh who was said to have laid his cloak over a mud puddle so that Queen Elizabeth could cross without her feet getting dirty. Well, in this modern age, gallantry isn't entirely dead. After ripping my clothes off and raping me on the floor of his van, the guy who took my virginity offered me the workout clothes from his gym bag and drove me to this feast. That was even before he asked if he could fuck me again sometime. Sir Walter was later imprisoned by the Queen and eventually beheaded. As a spurned lover, I doubt that I would be as harsh.
I would guess that 100% of the other students, faculty and chaperones who entered through these restaurant doors, were resplendent in their rented or newly pressed evening wear. And even after the earlier soiree where couples or groups danced and celebrated the end of another school year, and the foot-sore, high-heeled feet were now generally shod in flip-flops, with some few exceptions, most of the revelers managed to observe the proprieties.
Tuxedo jackets of all styles and colors were carelessly draped over chairs and the night's fevered few hours were now taking their toll on weary faces. Upswept hairdos were wilting, makeup was smeared, guys who counted their dance steps through the night, were barfing into trash cans after their first night of clandestine drinking. Still, I looked as if I should be holding a beggar's cup. My entrance would make them all appear as if they were strolling the red carpet on Oscar Night.
Maybe I wasn't the only girl to lose her virginity in the back of a truck tonight, but I would imagine that the few others probably then checked into a hotel with their partner or at the minimum, brushed their teeth, combed their hair and put-on fresh clothes before coming to the breakfast. The remnants of my sordid tryst were still dripping down my inner thighs. I only stopped by to grab some food and try to arrange for a ride home. On the plus side, I was about ninety minutes late and despite all attendees being under the legal limit, I think half of them were more than slightly inebriated and exhausted. The rest were huddled at tables scarfing food from the breakfast buffet or rehashing and critiquing the evening's festivities. I don't think that I would have been immediately noticed if my hair was on fire.
With a deep breath, I straggled through the doors like a cat that had just lost a fight. Fortunately, no one was paying much attention to me. I was never very popular anyway and nobody would be mourning my extended absence. There was a fruit juice bar, conveniently placed just inside the reception area, so I grabbed a big glass of OJ and took a gulp as I surveyed the room, looking for a friendly face. Then it really hit me that I was a stranger in this crowd. Twenty percent of my life had just been spent sleepwalking through academia with these people and the best one of them was the guy who just dropped me at the curb after fucking me for the previous two hours.
From the moment that I began my educational matriculation, decked-out in all black and with my head half-shaved, until eleven o'clock tonight when my softball teammates set me up to be slipped a Micky, seduced, and humiliated, the one thing that I learned, was that there was nobody to whom I could trust. I was the outcast, not necessarily by choice but I always felt that I was different. And at this moment, I'm starting to understand why.
My grades were good, infact if I cared to, I could have been valedictorian. I am good at softball, though I needed more experience to earn a scholarship. High school was simply a treadmill, and I was a gerbil spinning the wheel. But in the last couple months of my senior year, I did manage to learn about me. I discovered that if nobody else really cared about my inner feelings, finally I did. And having transformed my body from 175 pounds of almost flat-chested flab, I was complimented tonight on my long, pretty hair, muscular legs and shapely tits. Which brings me to why I am standing here on my prom night, wearing some guy's ratty clothes with no escort and having just been fucked. My fantasies would lift me above this boring crowd, my body ached to be pleasured and the restrictive morals of these common people would never hold me down. My body was my playground. I had become THAT girl.
I was never meant to be a lesbian, it's just that they found me first. I also was a little less shy- though certainly reluctant- to have my initial sexual adventure with a girl, (actually with two of them,) but I atleast knew how those parts worked. And feminine bodies of almost all variety are sexy and beautiful. Guys are icky. Plus, they have nothing left when their cocks go limp. Women like to kiss, they like being held and fondled. Their tits are nearly as sensitive as their cunts. A guy starts to snore. I am one of those girls who wants it all, and if you can't provide it, I'll find someone who can. They say that true love sneaks up on you and can take time to blossom. A guy's dick gets hard when the wind blows.
The funny thing was, I've always been that girl only I didn't know it. I needed to be different. But I could never get a handle on what exactly, set me apart. The sex was just another way to find myself. I'm beginning to understand that I like sex. Now, I'm fully aware that my sex-drive is overpowering. And while that alone doesn't make me unique, I discovered that I am naturally submissive, I get turned-on by being told what to do (sexually.) I like to deliver pleasure and I'm not overly shy in the way that happens. And my sexuality is a mystery to others, which also excites me.
The boys in my class think that I'm a lesbian, but I learned tonight that they think they can turn me around. The girls think I'm a slut and I will do anything... or anyone. None of them respect me but they all want to get in my pants. And secretly, I don't give a rat's ass what any of them think. I'm nineteen years old and I've only just realized, that my pussy wants constant stimulation and I don't care who or what I am called to do, I want to have fun. And I want to have great sex!
Tonight, will mark another huge emotional and psychological transformation in my battered soul, not just the end of my high school years but the beginning of my search to discover myself. I don't want to be hurt and I won't hurt anyone else, but I can make my own decisions about my own body. I will say "NO' if things don't seem right but I'll say "Hell Yes" when it feels too good to pass up. If I had anymore vodka, I'd drink a toast to that!
Just then, a shadow darkened the space to my left. A well-dressed man, not much older-looking than me, slid in beside me and the thought occurred to me that I was glad that I had recently graduated, because he looked like someone who could have me expelled. I tried to look away and hide my disheveled appearance but when I looked back, he was still staring at me. There was something familiar about him but I couldn't place him. He looked at me in the same way. Finally, he said in a low voice, "Are you Kari?"
