This story was first posted on another web site several years ago under a slightly different pen name.
All characters over 18.
"Big Tits, Big Dicks, and Fantasy Fucking!"
*
It was pig night at my frat house. As a pledge I had been one of the guys assigned to find a date. For those of you not familiar with this barbaric ritual it involves deliberately asking the homeliest girl you could find to a party at the frat house (a highly prized invitation in our opinion), for the express purpose of seeing who could find the ugliest girl.
I know, I know. Looking back now , I'm appalled too. But at the time I was young, impressionable and wanted to be accepted by my new frat brothers.
Anyway, my date, a young lady from my English Lit class, wasn't so much ugly as she was different. And she was really different!
Clara was not attractive by any stretch of the imagination. But Clara wasn't stone ugly like Matilda Freidrich who was also in attendance. That girl could shatter stone when she smiled. And Clara wasn't grossly obese like several of the other girls my brothers had dragged in.
But Clara had her own "charms". One was a personality and attitude that could be charitably referred to as "whacked out of her mind". Clara was into saving every thing - the planet, people in far away lands, whatever. No cause was too far out, or too wacky to have gained Clara's attention. And none was likely to hold her attention for more than a week or two.
And then there was the witch thing.
As I was returning to her side after getting us both a cup of "punch" I heard her talking to one of my frat brothers and his "date" about how her parents were both white witches.
"Mom's a clairvoyant and dad's a really excellent diviner and a white mage as well. Both Mom and Dad can trace their families back to the Druids in England. Mom has proof she is descended from Morgan LeFay!"
I didn't feel like getting into THIS conversation! So I held back a little as Clara chattered away about her various ancestors with their magic, mind reading, miracle cures and spells. It was all crap. As I waited, I wondered why Clara bothered repeating it. No one believed her. And the more she realized that she was not being believed the harder she tried - her earnest presentation just made it seem all the more ludicrous.
There was one other noticeable facet of Clara that everyone remarked upon: was her lack of any fashion sense. Personally, I had never seen her dressed any differently than she was this evening. Frazzled, reddish air pulled back into an unruly ponytail, bulky man's sport coat (usually corduroy, although tonight she was wearing an old tweed number - probably her Dad's hand me down), bib overalls for god's sake! and a flannel shirt. And sensible walking shoes. Which she did - everywhere. She didn't own a car or a bike.
She was a little shorter than my own 5"7' and looked about as delicate as a fireplug - squat, strong and thick.
The other couple did a fast fade into the crowd as I interrupted Clara to hand her her drink. The punch she got was spiked, of course. Mine was straight fruit punch. Another old frat tradition. Get the date drunk and see what happened. This was Clara's third and her cheeks were glowing a bit from the drink. Her speech was still unaffected but I figured that wouldn't last long as she drank most of this glass without stopping.
"Why don't you give me the nickel tour, Richie?" she asked, turning toward me.
"Sure. " I replied, I hated being called "Richie'. It was another talent of Clara's. Always say the wrong thing at the wrong time.
I gestured around grandly. "This is the main room where we have our parties. And if you'll follow me, around to the left is the study room. Through here is the kitchen. Let me refresh your drink while we're here. And this is another room we use for studying when there isn't a party going on and now we're back where we started." I finished as we regained the living room.
By this time the party was really rolling and the sound level was high enough that I was practically shouting even though Clara was clutching my sleeve as she finished her drink with a flourish.
"I need another drink, Richie," said my date, 'it's all gone." She pouted as she demonstrated by turning the glass upside down to show it was truly all gone. "And I need to find the little girls room, too," she giggled.
I figured Clara was about drunk by this time. So I led her back to the kitchen, refilled her glass, and started to explain that the temporary ladies room was upstairs.
"You show me, Richie." Clara declared as she grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the stairs. She wasn't even giving me a chance to refuse as she towed me up the stairs.
I pointed out the bathroom that was, thankfully, unoccupied at the moment. And heaved a sigh of relief as Clara closed the door behind her. She was getting looped fast and I didn't want to have to haul her back to her dorm room unconscious.
Just as I thought this the door popped open and Clara's hand thrust her glass under my nose. "And fill me up again, Richie! This punch makes me thirstier the more I drink!" The door snapped shut almost before I got a grip on the empty glass.
"I gotta taper her off" I grumbled to myself as I wound my way back to the punch bowl. Returning with a full glass of non-alcoholic fruit punch I planted my self outside the bathroom figuring I'd get her downstairs and back to her dorm before things got out of hand.
When Clara finally came out of the bathroom the glow of her skin was readily apparent. Her eyes were sparkling and somehow all of the lines of her face were looser. Her lips were a little puffy and were redder than before. She was visibly affected by the booze she'd unknowingly drunk.
"So what's up here Richie?" she asked, as once again she latched onto my wrist with both hands. "I've never been upstairs in a frat house. Do you naughty boys keep secrets up here?"
Oh yeah, Clara was soused - big time! And I really wasn't that interested in showing a tipsy girl the sleeping rooms of a bunch of frat rats... most of whom had the housekeeping habits of a bear!
