CW: questionable consent; unsafe BDSM; misogyny; rape references
It was pretty difficult, being invisible.
The last few weeks of my first year at University looked like they were going to be spent the same as every other week had been since I got there - alone, in my room, either watching some stupid Netflix show, cooking bad dinners for myself, or, and I wasn't too proud of this, masturbating furiously to the images of my course mates.
We were all, technically business students - but it had come to my attention that for some, a Business Degree was a piece of paper used to validate the position they were already guaranteed at their parent's business, and for everybody else - me included - it was a laughable testament that we hadn't bothered to actually
start
a business; that instead of pulling ourselves up and spending our time properly, we were cowardly hoping our qualification would get us a job.
So, when I locked the door to my little flat in halls, where I could still hear my flatmates through the cardboard-thin walls, put on enough music to drown myself out, and opened up the instagram accounts of the bikini-clad way-paved girls on my course, and began my near-nightly ritual of fucking myself with a fleshlight I'd gotten as a joke a few years ago by friends who'd cared about me, but I'd moved away from, I had to admit something to myself.
This was a
really
sad way to spend a Saturday night.
Then, at ten-twenty-three, I opened up the tried-and-true photo album of the woman I had my heart set on - Olivia Homely. Typically, I would go between images of her sunkissed smile, stunning body in a tight bikini from a year ago as she partied her way around Spain, looking desperately girl-next-doorish next to her slutty friends. She was brunette, tight-bodied but with a modest chest. Her arse was, especially in person, by far her greatest feature, and I knew I would give
anything
for a chance to feel her full, warm cheeks against my cock; to pull them open as the shiny, lubed-up winking hole of her virgin anus waited for me; to slide
deep
into her, before butt-fucking her like the anal slut she should be. In class, it was distracting. Here, in bed, with lotion being worked into my length and the whole night to kill, it was the closest I got to happiness.
But, tonight was different. Instead of the usual selfies she had at the top of her photo timeline, the ones of her smartly-dressed and smiling in the sort of way that would get her on a corporate catalogue one day, she had been tagged in something.
She was out.
Her top was...
revealing
- a tight, pale little number that blended into her fair skin, making her look almost topless at a glance. Her skirt, though - that was what caught me. It was
tight
, and hugged her rump perfectly, whilst also
still being a skirt
.
I checked the person who had tagged her - Jennifer Aisling. A true slut if ever there was one, she'd been around most of the guys who took the EU Finance and Logistics electives; blonde, busty, and brazen.
But, even though Jennifer was just about falling out of her own dress in some of the photographs she'd posted, it was too much for me to look away from Olivia. When I did, however, it was on the third photo she'd posted - because it wasn't one of them, nor of where they were. It was a photograph
of Olivia's phone
, which clearly stated the time as 10:19. I checked the upload time - 10:21.
They were being uploaded just about live.
'Fuck,' I muttered to myself, realising that they were out
now
. Olivia was out, in town, in that skirt,
right now
.
And, just like that, I was in research mode.
I didn't have Olivia on a lot of social media, but the simple fact was that if Jennifer had posted in one place, she would have I'm a few - and
some
websites have geotags.
It was easy, then, to figure out that she - at least, Jennifer, but I assumed they were still together - was at, or around, a corner about a quarter mile away.
It wasn't a long walk, and I knew from having walked that way to get the bus into town and back, that there were a smattering of nightclubs, bars and takeaways around there. As I pulled on some jeans, a clean - or, at least cleaner - t-shirt and jacket, I figured I could just
go
. Just get down there.
There was a funny, if a little date-rapey, quote from
Superbad
that I was reminded of as I thought about why I was doing what I was doing.
I could be the mistake she makes
, I thought. It wasn't about getting a girl drunk, or taking advantage. It was just that... if I wasn't given a fighting chance, there was
no way
I was ever going to get close enough to try anything.
When I was dressed, with a splash of cologne to boot, I reloaded the photos of Olivia, and saw that they were still in the same place, uploading more photographs of Olivia's skirt stretched over her arse, the slip of inner thigh visible in the lamplight filling me with the sort of vigour that had escaped me for so long.
It was a short trip through the flats, the adjoining doors along the communal corridor all shut, the residents likely out and about as well. All students, all with better lives than me. I could hear them sometimes, through the walls, laughing and drinking and fucking. I didn't even really know their names, and I reckoned they didn't really know mine, either. One of them knew I was a fan of
Lord of the Rings
, as he'd walked in on me watching a marathon once, going into my room by accident. He recognised what it was, yelled 'Frodo!', laughed and left. Whenever I had to interact with him, he called me Frodo, now.
With the electric fob in my pocket, I let myself out of the block, down through the carpark, and out the metal gate, into the night air. It was cool and dry, and the lack of wind made it easy to pretend it wasn't later than, say, seven.
On a whim, I glanced over my shoulder, that feeling of being watched tickling the hairs on my neck. Behind me, I glanced, and saw a figure - maybe a guy, tall, and wearing one of those flat-caps I'd seen older farmers wearing. I couldn't see his face, because the cap hid him under shadow, but the jacket made me think he was old.
There was nothing...
interesting
about him, aside from the fact that he seemed totally out of place. Like he'd arrived here from a farm a hundred miles away, and that he had every right to be just as confused as me. Instead, however, he was just... standing.
Watching me.
I nodded, and turned away, putting my mind to the task.
It was a strange feeling - after weeks of basically staying to one side, as out-of-the-way as I possibly could, I was all of a sudden seeking things out. So long of staying in the back of lecture theatres, wringing my skinny hands and hoping no one saw me, I was now...
going
to people. Seeking them out. Well, one in particular.
And, then, all of a sudden, I was standing outside of a cheap-ass pizza place called
Davino's
, and there she was. My eyes caught hers for a second, before she looked away, back to Jennifer as they waited for a slice of something that was supposed to resemble pizza. So, I let my eyes drift, too - looking down at her nude-coloured top, the drift of her shape, her curves, and that
arse