AN: This story contains one scene of borderline non-consensual sex. If you think that this might bother you, stop reading here.
___
I looked over the card that the 3rd floor RA had dropped off this afternoon, but it didn't seem to cover my needs. After the midpoint of the semester, the housing administration had made a great deal of noise about their "midterm survey." The intention, as it had been relayed to me, was to loosen up the channels of communication between students and housing staff. Its true purpose, judging by the questions on the 3x5 card, seemed to be giving captive students a chance to escape their horrible roommates anonymously. Or, at the very least, to deceive those poor souls into thinking that their concerns were heard and noted.
Question 1: How would you rate your stay in Waltzmeister Hall?
I circled 3 for "indifferent."
Question 2: How would you rate the housing staff of Waltzmeister Hall?
I circled 4 for "good."
Question 3: How would you rate your roommate in Waltzmeister Hall?
I circled 5 for "great." I just took that to be synonymous with "overwhelmingly sexy."
Question 4: How would you rate your relationship with your roommate?
I circled 1 for "very bad."
Question 5: Of the following, which of your roommate's habits do you think they could change to improve your relationship? (Circle all that apply.)
Showering schedule, cleanliness, study habits... the list went on for a while, but nowhere was the suggestion that she should stop being so fucking hot around me, so I circled "none of the above" and slipped the card under the RA's door.
Mallory and I had gotten along swimmingly during our first week. I distinctly remember our first meeting on the weekend before classes began. I had already moved in and was heading out for dinner when she arrived, toting just a single suitcase up the stairs. However, the incident doesn't stand out in my memory because she was a light packer. Rather, what caught my eye was her manner of dress.
You see, I went to high school and spent most of my post-pubescent life in Nowheresville out in eastern Washington. Well OK, the town wasn't really called that, but, for the sake of honesty, it would be an improvement if it were. In any case, the female dress code in Nowheresville was very strict: a spacious dress that covered one's shins was most desirable and t-shirt with baggy jeans was the lowest acceptable outfit. Beyond this window of decency lay forbidden fruits such as tight-fitting jeans, summer dresses, and red heels. I had an old clothing catalogue in my room back home that featured women in shapely jeans, knee-length skirts, and shirts that gave away just a hint of cleavage. Before I came to college I used to stay up late, looking at the pictures with a flashlight under my covers while I would idly massage my breasts.
This, however, was as close as I got to sexy before I saw Mallory on that fateful afternoon. By any sensible standards she was perfectly modest, but to my tender eyes she was practically scandalous. Her top, if one could believe it, was sleeveless! Leaving her freckled shoulders completely exposed. The frilled straps that stopped the whole thing from falling down scooped across the tops of her breasts, hinting as the treasures that lay below. As if that wasn't enough, the black straps of her bra was just visible under the fabric.
I was frozen in a mixture of erotic shock and horror that someone could actually wear an outfit so revealing. But if I was frozen by that, then I practically melted when her eyes, popping with the thin layer of black eyeliner around them, locked on me with a hungry look reserved for only the most sultry models in the back of my secret catalogue. I was in heaven and hell all at once when she brushed a lock a curly brown hair over her ear and walked past me.
It wasn't until she walked through the door and out of the stairwell that I snapped back into reality and had to deal with the thoughts I had just indulged in. Pushing such images as her naked shoulders aside, I hurried down the stairwell and counted myself lucky that the incident had passed.
My luck, however, did and didn't hold when I returned later that evening to find my forbidden dream sitting on the bed opposite to mine. We were roommates.
"Hello," she greeted me with a tone surprisingly pleasant for the devil incarnate. "I'm Mallory." She held out a hand which I shook, the soft warmth of her skin almost eliciting a whimper from my lips.
"Eliza, but you can call me Lizzy," I returned with shaking knees.
She took a shower later that night and left me with my first experience masturbating. Something primal overtook me as I imagined her in there, naked, lathering soap over her firm breasts, sliding the loofah down her smooth legs...
Tame as these thoughts seem now, at the time they were driving me crazy. I unbuttoned my jeans and began to rub myself through my panties. Still, this wasn't enough, so I did the unthinkable and slipped my fingers into my panties where they made direct contact with my slightly wet sex.
Fascinated at what I was feeling, I pulled my fingers out of my jeans and studied the whitish liquid that accumulated on them. However, my moment of wonder was interrupted when I heard the shower shut off and Mallory's feet on the floor as she stepped out. I quickly wiped the liquid off onto the side of my bed and pulled out a book, as though I'd been reading the whole time. But the fire within me was still burning and it would continue to burn for some time, as long as my desire for Mallory went unsatisfied.
Now I say that we had gotten along fine for the first week because it was on the Friday night after classes began that our relationship became horribly complicated. To preface what happened, I should say that my parents were quite religious, along with the rest of my childhood community. Of course this should be no surprise if my exposition to this point has carried any weight. Still, you might be surprised to find that, though I didn't earnestly believe that the religion of my parents was true, I still valued many of the lessons passed down to me through it.
To that end, I found Mallory's tight jeans and sleeveless shirts appalling, in spite of the exciting effect that they had on me. Though I had found a free block of time to masturbate freely to thoughts of her, I felt guilty and disgusting afterwards, resolving never to do it again. (But of course I did.) And, most importantly of all, an intimate relationship with Mallory was completely out of the question. Although even I cannot understand my attitudes at the time, looking back on them as I write this, I can report that I valued my chastity a great deal and that no means of losing it would be as degrading to me as sex with another woman.
For these reasons, I was repelled when she kissed me on that Friday night.
It was late in the evening and I had finished my only pieces of homework, a math assignment and a bit of reading, so I happily accepted Mallory's invitation to come sit by her on the bed and watch a movie on her laptop. Her warmth was intoxicating as I rested my head on her soft freckled shoulder and she smelled like summer roses abloom under my nose. It all happened so fast that I can't be sure about how things transpired, but I think that I may have leaned in just a little when I saw her coming down to kiss me.
Her lips were soft and tasted of fruit. I whimpered as our flesh melded, but something inside my brain snagged me and pulled me back. I jumped off the bed, shaking my hands just to do anything.
"No! No, I can't!" I said, pacing back and forth with my eyes on the floor. I couldn't bear to look at Mallory just then.
"I don't understand," I heard her say, probably with a puzzled look on her cute face. "I can
feel
your lust for me, why don't you want to?"
"It's wrong! I can't!" That was all I said before I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the room. I wandered on campus for an hour, trying to cool off in the night air while the crickets taunted me with their love songs. Finally I settled on the library and stayed there, reading ahead for my literature class. I finished
The Scarlet Letter
in one sitting before I finally dared to return to my room. Mallory was asleep when I tiptoed through the door, so I quickly dressed for bed and drifted off myself, exhausted from the turmoil of feelings that had been tearing me apart all night.
We didn't speak of the incident again, but I would have sworn that she was trying to torment me, wearing the shorts that exposed her wonderful legs, walking around in nothing but a sports bra, and always looking at me with that burning hunger.
I could've requested a roommate transfer. I could've just said that it "wasn't working out between us," but I didn't. Even though it was hell for me, I loved every minute of it. I loved drinking in her curves, I loved the sweat on her firm belly when she got back from a workout, and I loved listening to her hum in the shower, imagining the beads of hot water sliding down her breasts.
But for all my fantasizing, though, I would never allow myself to touch her in that way. My imagination was a loophole that allowed me to maintain my chastity, but it was as far as I could go without compromising what I valued.
And so my semester went on, my time occupied by classes, studying, and pining after my roommate. When the RA passed out midterm evaluation cards, I rated my roommate as wonderful, while our relationship was abysmal. Perhaps if I'd known what was about to happen, I would've answered differently.
It was a late October evening and I had just gotten back from my lit midterm. I had fallen into the freshman trap that was an evening class back when I had enrolled, for surely no seasoned student would want to find themselves sitting in a classroom from five to eight at night just talking about Thoreau. The midterm, in particular, had been very exhausting, so as soon as I got back to my room I waved politely to Mallory, who was watching a movie under the covers, and slid easily into bed. I was too tired to have any interest in brushing my hair before bed or staying up to do more studying, so I simply kicked my pants off from under the covers, undid my bra, and sent them both over the side before I turned over and fell instantly to sleep.
At some point in the night, I began to have the most peculiar dream. In it, I felt Mallory slide into bed with me and wrap her arms around my waist.
"I'm sorry," I heard her say. "But I need this."
Of course this wasn't the peculiar bit. I'd had erotic dreams about Mallory many times in the past, but in this dream she was not Mallory as I was used to seeing her. When she rolled me over in bed, I could see that she was wearing nothing but her panties and her nipples were smaller than I usually imagined them. She was kissing me feverishly when her arm seemed to split in two. There was her regular arm that was massaging the back of my shoulder, but then there was something else that had peeled away from her bicep, a pale white appendage that waved around like a squid's tentacle before it slipped up under my shirt and began to cup my breast.
Even through my hazy mental state, the thing felt wonderful as it wrapped around the base of my right tit, the end of it grazing my pert nipple lightly. The thing - the tentacle - was warm and slightly wet, though not wet in an unpleasant way. Instead, it was a healthy wet, like one might expect a dog's nose or a human's tongue to be.
More of them began to pop out of Mallory's being, although they left no mark or indentation on the flesh that they grew from. I suppose I would have noted what a peculiar dream this was if they didn't all begin to snake over my body, eliciting pleasure wherever they went. Two more slipped under my shirt and began to tend to my other breast, another wrapped itself around my waist, while a whole host of tentacles began to work at my panties, pulling them down.
I could feel the wetness in my pussy, a sensation that had grown familiar after months of paddling the pink canoe to thoughts of Mallory. Only now there was an unfamiliar sensation to accompany it. Unfamiliar, but electric. I felt the warm textured end of a tentacle slide itself along my lips, drawing a whimper from me as two more wrapped themselves around my thighs, pulling them apart for the first to enter me.
Two more tentacles appeared to restrain my arms. I remember hearing myself whisper "No," and the tentacles all began to recede, a look of sadness on Mallory's face as they did, but I stopped that with another "No." With my free arms I reached up to pull her back down and began to grope her soft breasts. She smiled and the tentacles renewed their work of pleasuring me.
