She looked shocked. I mean her cheeks went bright red and she seemed to allow the wall she was leaning against to swallow her. “I thought I’d get that out in the open. I’m extremely candid. I’m a no-holds-barred kind of gal. Come play with me. I need an ally against these perverts,” I said as I noticed her body language begin to relax. “Come on. What’s your name?” I asked, grabbing her hand.
“Haven. Haven Wells.”
We ended up playing sixteen rounds of quarters.
I didn’t really like beer. It was an acquired taste. And I hadn’t acquired it yet. Haven agreed, even if she never said a word. The squishy look on her face every time she had to drink told me everything. By the end of the night, I was relatively buzzed, and she had a slight wobble to her walk.
The guy I’d chosen for the evening was nice enough to go with us when I walked Haven back to her dorm. She lived on the other side of the campus, and I heard her mumble something about her roommate being Satan’s whore. Once we got her settled into her room, I went with Jeff—the flavor of the evening. He spent a good portion of the night begging to get into my pants. Once I had his dick in my mouth, he settled down.
It’s amazing what sucking cock can achieve. It’s like a Xanax for the male sex drive. Oh, their dick stays hard—how could it not in my mouth—but the rest of their body relaxes. Well, until they come. Then it’s like Mt. Vesuvius—an eruption on a historic scale.
Haven and I became good friends. Eventually besties. Even though she was younger, she had a maturity about her. She had taken her SATs and gotten early admittance to college because she was smart. She’d come from a small Colorado town. Ironically, probably the only two virgins in this school had found each other. Within one month of that frat party, she became my roommate. We fit together well. Except for my constant oral adventures. She absolutely hated when I would go into detail about my nightly escapades. She was hilarious. Every time I mentioned the words cock sucking or blowjob, I swear that girl would blush to her roots. Her fingers would go directly into both ears, and all I could hear was, “La-la-la,” as she tried to expel the images from her head and the words from her ears.
We finally made an agreement. Oral sex from here on would never be referred to as cock sucking, a blowjob, a hummer, skin flute, deep throating, or even fellatio. It would be forever known as a puff chore. I was okay with that. Anything to make my BFF comfortable. Of course, I would NEVER repeat that word ever. To a single man. And I tried not to even let it cross my mind while I was doing it. I always ended up giggling, which men loved. The vibration I created always made their bodies shudder against mine. It was exhilarating the authority I had with just my mouth and tongue.
Haven was an odd creature. Extremely pretty but quiet, reserved, and virginal. I still had my V-card, but at least I had sexual experience. A ton of it. She’d only kissed two men in her life and virtually had no other knowledge. Oh, she was intelligent when it came to current events. But street smarts—forget it. She could’ve been a hot librarian, but she wanted to be a writer or work in publishing. My roommate loved to read. And from what I could tell, most of it was all smut. I’d been looking for aspirin one afternoon when I flipped open one of her books. Good God, it was set a trillion years ago, and the sexual language, well, that by definition was fucking hilarious. Actually, I could see why women read this shit; it kind of turned you on. Not me. I needed my balls and cock actually attached to a man, not a page.
My roomie had a vibrator. Not too much shocked me, but when I found the egg-shaped phallus—my jaw dropped. Haven had issues, but she also had carnal desires. She just needed coaxing out of her shell. Normally, I wouldn’t bother since I had a tight schedule between school and my extracurricular activities. I liked college. I enjoyed studying, mainly business. True, I didn’t have to work and most likely would never have to. My trust fund would kick in soon, and of course, my beloved parents had high hopes I would meet my prince at college, marry, and have babies. Just the thought made me break out in cold sweats. But the icing on top was having Haven. I’d never really had a best girlfriend. In high school, I’d always had friends that were girls. Brandi and I had been close, but we never shared much aside from sex tips.
I spent my first year trying to alter Haven’s appearance. I knew there had to be a smexy—smart and sexy—girl underneath that atrocious wardrobe. She actually dressed worse than I did in high school. Someone helped me, so now it was my turn to pay it forward. My bestie didn’t want to put her goods on display. When I finally saw her in a pair of leggings and a tight knit sweater, I almost passed out. My roomie had tits, bigger than mine. I introduced her to cosmetics and jewelry. I told her those two items would change everything. Haven was more interested in her classes and reading than partying. Which was a shame because sometimes I could have used a “wing woman.”
I met Harold in one of my business courses. He was well dressed, well mannered, and smelled good. The only reason I didn’t ask him out was because he looked a little to cut and dry for me, but for Haven, he was perfect. It took some convincing, but she finally agreed to meet him. I think the fact that he was a reader cinched the deal. I could only imagine how the date would go. I had high hopes for her coming home deflowered, but witnessing her when he came to the door—zero chemistry between those two. I’d even “undressed” her appropriately for a first date.
“I can’t wear that. Are you crazy, Weezie? That top looks ten sizes too small,” Haven yelped, rolling her eyes.
“It’s actually two sizes smaller, and that’s the point. Makes the girls look huge. Just remember, you never get a second chance to make a first impression,” I quipped.
“And that impression should be slut queen from whore central?”
I chuckled. Only she would be convinced a short skirt and tight shirt would make her look like a whore. “Hey, watch it! Those are my clothes you’re talking about.”
“I rest my case,” she replied as she shook her head. “I can’t wear this. Crap, I’ll look like a hooker.”
“Well, fuck me. In less than sixty seconds, you’ve referred to me as a slut, a whore, and now a hooker.” I chuckled. “Exactly how am I supposed to take that, Haven?”
“You know what I meant, and by the way, if the shoe fits—”
I wagged my finger in front of her face. “Hold that thought. Your date is here. And put the hooker shirt back on,” I said as I shoved her into the bathroom, tossing the shirt in her face. I could hear her huffing and puffing as I closed the door.
I went to let Harold in. I scanned him up and down. He looked different. There was something off about him. Fuck. So maybe Haven wouldn’t notice. She had no experience in dating, and besides, they’d probably talk about books all night. No use waving a red flag in her face. Besides, tonight would be educational for her.
While Haven and Harold went on their date, I planned to watch some television, consume a lovely pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and get to bed early.
It was almost nine when someone knocked at the door.
Joey Miles. The walking, talking icon of the lacrosse team. Damn, he was pretty, even wearing a multicolored cast on his right arm. I’d heard he fell while skiing and broke it. Poor baby… Kissing it would certainly make it feel better, if not for him, for me. So here he stood, with me in a tank top, braless, and baggy sweatpants carrying a bowl of Cherry Garcia. Why was he here? We didn’t run in the same circles. I mean, yeah, I knew who he was. Who didn’t?