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Gina was about to read through the final draft of her paper when she realized she’d picked up someone else’s print job.
This is a true story. I accidentally walked into the girls locker room at the gym. It was mostly empty except for two hot blondes. They were totally naked and standing at their lockers and they both had shave pussies. Plus amazing asses and huge tits that didn’t sag at all.
I thought they would be mad at me instead one of them said Look whose here! then she said, What’s the matter, never seen a naked girl before?
I instantly got a hard-on and my 9-inch cock was stick straight out. The other one said nice cock want to take a shower with us?
I followed them into the shower and we started going at it. The blonde went down on my fat cock and started sucking it and I said take it bitch. Then the other one a brunette was playing with her pussy and she said I want you to fuck my pussy so I said my pleasure and she bent over and I fucked her cunt from behind while the blonde was playing with my balls.
Gina stormed down the hall to Mark’s room.
Mark looked up from his homework at Gina standing in his doorway, holding up a sheaf of paper.
“You’re the only one else who uses the printer, so I know it’s yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
Gina began to read:
“‘This is a true story. I accidentally walked into the girls’ locker room–‘”
Mark bolted from his chair and snatched the paper from her hand.
“Did you write that?” said Gina.
“No, I didn’t write it!” Mark spat. He sat down at his desk and stuffed the papers into a drawer.
“That’s the worst piece of erotic writing I’ve ever seen! Where did you find it, shavedpussy.com or something?” she said, ending the sentence in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m trying to study,” he said.
“I mean, how implausible can you get? Plus, there’s no tension whatsoever,” she continued. “Do you really find that erotic?”
Mark shot her an angry glance. “Well excuse me if I’m not a connoisseur of smut, Miss English Lit Major! Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to study.”
He got up from his chair and edged Gina out of the room, closing the door behind her.
A weird tension had been developing between Mark and Gina lately, perhaps to be expected between an empirically-minded engineering student and an English Lit major who sought the truth in 19th century literature.
But Mark actually felt a special affinity with Gina. The crisp enunciation with which she spoke charmed him, as did her bright intelligent eyes. Her personality sparkled in comparison with his other housemates, who were amiable but uninteresting.
However, she could be downright intimidating. She was opinionated and outspoken, never able to just let things go. Anyone else would have politely ignored the dirty story and discreetly returned it to the printer, he thought, but not Gina.
Gina, in turn, felt bad about putting Mark on the spot. He was one of the sweetest guys she knew, gentle and unassuming despite his razor-sharp intellect. She marveled at the profound observations he could summarize in a simple, plainly-worded sentence.
A few days later, found Mark in the living room watching TV when she returned from class.
“Hey,” she said, plopping down next to him on the sofa.
“Hey,” said Mark.
“Listen, I’m really sorry about the other night,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”
“It’s okay,” Mark answered. “I don’t blame you for thinking I’m a creep to read that stuff.”
“I don’t think you’re a creep!” Gina said sitting up. “I was just being a snob, I guess. Who am I to impose my tastes on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mark, you’re not the only one who reads erotic fiction,” she said.
“You read that stuff?”
“Of course,” she said, “I’ve even written a few stories myself,” she confessed.
Gina seemed to consider something for a moment.
“Wait here,” she said at last. She darted down the hall to her room. Mark heard the sound of boxes opening and papers shuffling, and then Gina returned to the living room holding a manila folder.
“Let me know what you think,” she said, handing the folder to Mark.
He read the label aloud.
“Just a diversion for spies,” she smiled.
Gina glanced at the clock.
“Oh my God, it’s already six! I’m supposed to meet my friend for dinner! See you later!” She grabbed her coat and darted out the door.
The story, entitled “Damien”, was seventy single-spaced pages long. As Mark poured over the opening pages, he marveled at Gina’s writing skill. The vocabulary, plot development, and detailed descriptions were certainly far beyond anything he was capable of.
Soon, however, his interest in the fortunes of Genevieve and Damien began to wane. When he reached page twenty, Genevieve had just spent five pages analyzing a smile Damien had given her when they crossed paths on bahçeşehir escort campus. For all of its emotional depth and poignant observations about human nature, Mark’s primary questions remained unanswered: Did Genevieve have a nice ass? How large were her breasts? What were her feminine grooming preferences?
Eventually, Genevieve and Damien made love. They kissed, undressed, and caressed each other; Damien looked into Genevieve’s eyes when he entered her. A few times, Mark did find himself becoming mildly aroused, but ultimately Gina’s vague descriptions left too much to the imagination.
The following afternoon, Gina found Mark in the living room watching TV. She sat down on the couch next to him.
“So, did you read it?” she asked.
“Yes,” Mark replied perhaps with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. “I liked it.”
Gina glanced at him skeptically.
“I liked it, really.”
Mark proceeded to tell Gina how well-written he thought her story was. He mentioned specific details to prove he had in fact read it and thought about it.
“Did you think it was, well, hot?”
Mark shifted in his chair.
“Umm, yeah, it was pretty steamy.” he said, averting his gaze.
“You don’t seem too convinced.”
Mark looked down the hall past Gina to see if anyone was listening.
“Don’t worry, we’re the only ones home,” she reassured him.
“Remember what you said about that story I left on the printer?” Mark said. “About how there was no tension?”
“Yeah,” Gina said warily.
“Well, I agree. I’ve been reading those stories for a while now, and they’re all pretty lame. I think it’s mostly because they don’t build tension. Everything just happens right away.”
Gina smiled inwardly at this concession.
“Well, your story has a lot of tension. So, in that sense, your story is on the right track.”
“On the right track?” Gina huffed. “What, you’re an expert now?”
She was annoyed, but when she noticed Mark withdrawing from the conversation, she eased up. She had never let anyone read one of her erotic stories, and it had taken a great leap of faith to share one with Mark. Despite his ambivalence, she did not regret her decision.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Is it boring? Too long?”
Mark considered this for a moment.
“Well, I’m no expert,” he began. Gina chuckled. “I guess one thing I noticed was the language.”
“What language?” Gina said defensively.
“Well, ‘make love’ for instance. Oh, and ‘bosom’.”
“What, you want me to say ‘tits’? I hate that word!”
“Yeah, me too,” Mark agreed.
“So what do you mean?”
“I mean, why say ‘make love’ when you mean ‘fuck’? It’s such a…”
“Yeah! It’s a euphemism!” replied Mark ardently.
“My old girlfriend got all uptight when I said ‘fuck’ instead of ‘make love’,” Mark recalled. “It’s not like I said it all the time or anything. But sometimes it’s just how I felt, you know? In the heat of the moment?”
Mark was surprised at his own candor. He paused for a moment to gauge Gina’s reaction.
“Go on,” she said.
“I don’t know, maybe it sounded rude. But I didn’t mean it that way; it’s just how I felt. It didn’t have anything to do with not loving her. It’s just seems alright when you feel really…horny.” He almost whispered the word.
Mark checked Gina’s reaction again. She was staring at him with a wide-eyed gaze, her lips slightly parted. He didn’t interpret it as a look of disapproval, so he continued.
“Well, for once I just wished we could have let go of our inhibitions and say what we were really thinking. For once, I just wanted to hear her say ‘fuck me!'”
Gina felt a shiver run down her spine.
Mark had finished making his point. He stared at the muted television and awaited Gina’s fiery response. Of course there was no place in Gina’s high-brow prose for his coarse language. What had he been thinking?
But when he turned to say something, Gina was staring at him intently. She smiled at him.
“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to combine our talents and write a story together,” she said.
“It’ll be fun,” she went on. “We can start tonight when I get back from the library.”
“Okay, I guess,” Mark said tentatively as she got up. She gathered her backpack and coat, and before he knew it she was out the door. Mark watched her through the window as she walked across the yard. When she reached the gate, she turned and waved at him, as if she had expected him to be there watching her.
When ten p.m. rolled around and Gina still wasn’t home, Mark didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. Was she really serious about writing a story together? Would she expect him to help her re-work the tale of Genevieve and Damien?
He was about to turn in when someone knocked softly at his door. It was Gina.
She poked her head in the door. Her cheeks were rosy from being out in bakırköy escort the crisp fall night.
“I’m just going to get ready for bed,” she said, “come over to my room in five minutes or so.”
Mark decided to get ready for bed himself. He changed into a tee shirt and his flannel pajama bottoms, then brushed his teeth.
Gina’s door was open when he arrived, and he found her sitting on her futon. The futon, laid out flat in the corner of her room near the window, was covered with blankets and pillows. It was surrounded with candles and incense and a burgundy tapestry that hung on the wall.
Gina was clad in a loose-fitting tee shirt and boxers, and her face was illuminated by the blue glow of her notebook computer resting in her lap. Mark sat down on the bed and waited patiently as she checked her email.
“I’m not a prude, you know,” she said without looking up.
“I know you think I’m a prude because I don’t use words like ‘fuck’ and ‘cock’. But I’m not.”
“I don’t think you’re a prude.”
She gazed up at him. “I’m a student of English Litch-rah-tcher,” she said flamboyantly. “I’m not accustomed to your coarse language. But I want to learn, Mark! How desperately I want to learn! And I want you to teach me!”
“Easy does it, Genevieve,” said Mark.
“Seriously, I just thought we could try to write a story that’s more…to the point. Did you come up with any ideas?”
“Umm, not really,” said Mark.
“Maybe we could start with the locker room idea,” Gina suggested.
“Come on Gina,” Mark said. “Even I didn’t like that story. I’m not really into the lesbo-multiple-partner thing.”
“Alright, then let’s make it a non-lesbo-single-partner thing.”
Without waiting for a reply, Gina began to compose a story, reading aloud as she typed.
“‘Mark loved playing basketball with his buddies in the gym after class. It helped him burn off steam after his challenging engineering classes,'” Gina began.
“Why ‘Mark’?” protested Mark.
Gina grinned mischievously and went on typing.
“‘It was shirts against skins. The homo-erotic tension was palpable as the young men tried to maintain their focus on the game while discreetly checking each other out.'”
“‘Mark could not help but compare the muscular torsos of his teammates with his own physique. He compared quite favorably, though he could not see this himself.'”
Mark felt a swell of pride for a moment, then wondered if Gina was just mindlessly ad-libbing.
“‘He enjoyed exercise, but he could not deny he did it largely because he wanted to be in good shape; to look good. Because at–,’ How old are you?”
“Twenty,” Mark answered.
“‘because at twenty years old, the dominant theme in his life was sex.'”
“Ha!” Mark interjected.
“‘Girls and sex. Pussy, fucking, girls, pussy, girls, fucking, pussy. So ran his mantra.'”
Mark was taken aback by Gina’s language. He waited eagerly for her to continue.
“‘But Mark’s game was off tonight, and his teammates chided him for missing easy shots. It was good-natured teasing, but Mark didn’t see it that way. He was frustrated. Frustrated about his playing, frustrated about his heavy load of homework, and frustrated about not having been laid in six months.'”
“Hey! What makes you think that?”
Gina looked up at him.
“Mark, relax. It’s just a story, remember?”
Mark frowned and looked down at his feet.
“Okay, it’s your turn.”
“C’mon, help me with the story!”
“Aw, I don’t know Gina.”
Gina looked at him with sad puppy dog eyes.
“Oh, alright!” He thought for a moment about where she had left off and decided it was time to get things moving.
“‘Mark started thinking of Debra, the hot cheerleader that lived in his dorm. He felt his,’ umm,”
“Cock?” suggested Gina.
“Yeah! He felt his cock start to get hard!”
Gina closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
“Mark, what happened to building tension? You said yourself there needs to be tension!”
“You have to draw it out a little is all I’m saying,” said Gina.
Mark peered around the room as if seeking inspiration. His gaze fell on a photo of Gina posing in front of a waterfall with her arm around a handsome guy about her age. Suddenly he felt agitated. He redirected his gaze to the pile of folded laundry at the foot of the bed. Perched on top was a neatly-folded pair of white panties. An image of Gina wearing the skimpy garment popped into his head.
“Okay, lessee,” he said, trying hard to de-scramble his brain. “‘Mark stayed after the game to practice his foul shot.'”
“Good!” said Gina, typing enthusiastically.
“‘After twenty minutes or so, I started to get tired. The guys had left and the gym was quiet.'”
Gina noted his transition to the first person but did not say anything.
“‘I decided to call it a night. As I walked into the locker room, I thought I heard başakşehir escort the showers running. I didn’t think too much about it and started to undress. I grabbed my towel and headed for the showers. I could hear the water running and figured one of the guys must be finishing up.'”
Gina’s fingers tapped the keyboard, keeping pace with Mark’s narration.
“‘You can imagine my surprise when I stepped into the shower room to see a beautiful girl soaping herself up.”Mind if I join you?” I said, and she said “Fine.”‘”
“What?” Mark said indignantly.
Gina rubbed her eyes, trying to think of a polite way to voice her criticism.
“Well, is that really plausible?”
“What do you mean?” Mark shot back, “this is a fantasy, remember?”
“Let me just ask you something,” Gina replied. “Do you think there is the slightest chance that something like that would ever happen?”
“Well, no. But that’s not the point!”
“I know, I know, it’s a fantasy. But wouldn’t it be sexier if it was at least slightly plausible?”
Mark just stared at the floor. This wasn’t going to work, he thought to himself.
“You need to at least give some sort of explanation, you know? Lend it just a little credence?”
Gina thought for a moment, and then continued.
“Like, what if you did the gentlemanly thing and turned to leave? But she’s really apologetic. She explains that the women’s shower room is out of order, crossing her arms over her breasts but otherwise making no attempt to hide her nudity. She timidly suggests that you stay.”
“That’s good!” Mark said.
“And she’s not some blonde airhead. Maybe it’s a girl you recognize from class. You barely recognize her out of her usual frumpy attire. Why would she want to conceal such a marvelous figure, you wonder.”
Gina set her computer aside and laid back on the futon.
“Yes! Keep going!” Mark encouraged her.
Gina yawned and rubbed her eyes.
“I’m too tired,” she said. “What say we call it a night? I’ve got an eight o’clock class tomorrow. We can pick it up later.”
Mark could tell it was useless to persist. He said good night to Gina and returned to his room, turning off the lights and climbing into bed. He fell asleep thinking of the story as it had progressed so far.
Gina’s room became Mark’s default hangout. It was now his habit to visit her in the evenings after he had finished his homework. He made himself at home on her futon and chatted with her until late into the evening, usually until she shooed him out.
One Friday night when he arrived home from the library, he found her in her room getting ready to go out. He tried chatting with her, but she seemed preoccupied and said little.
When she finished brushing her hair and turned away from the mirror, Mark was taken aback by what a difference a little lip gloss and mascara had made on her appearance. She suddenly looked grown up and sophisticated, and Mark felt slightly intimidated. She said good night to him, and then slipped out the door.
He passed a lonely evening by himself. He tried to study, and then spent some time aimlessly tidying his room, all the while haunted by the image of Gina’s altered appearance. It had finally dawned on him that she had gone on a date, and he was alarmed at how upset this made him feel.
Eventually he wound up in the living room. He rummaged through a communal box of DVDs for something he hadn’t seen yet, groaning when he realized it had come down to Mona Lisa Smile. But the movie provided enough of a distraction for him to relax a little, and within half an hour he was fast asleep on the couch.
He was awakened at midnight by Gina coming in the front door. She sat down next to him on the couch.
“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Late,” she answered flatly.
Gina stared blankly at the DVD menu display.
“That was a short date,” Mark said sitting up.
“What makes you think I was on a date?” she snapped.
“Geez, what’s your problem?”
He could now see that she had been crying.
“I’m sorry,” she said, folding her hands in her lap and peering out the window.
“Do guys just think about sex all the time?” she asked after a long pause.
“I know I do,” said Mark.
His innocent tone made her chuckle.
“Why are guys such assholes?” she said, the sour look returning to her face.
But Gina didn’t pursue the question; she just sat there looking sad.
“Want a popsicle?” Mark asked. He darted into the kitchen before she could answer and retrieved two Astro Pops.
“Thanks,” said Gina, taking the popsicle.
They ate their popsicles in silence. When they finished, Gina stood up.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced. “Maybe when I’m finished we can work on our story?”
Mark gazed up at her. He was not used to seeing her dressed up and couldn’t help checking her out. She was wearing low-rider jeans that fit snugly to her slender legs and narrow hips, and a red camisole beneath a stylish black sweater. But her make-up was gone now, replaced with dried streaks of tears.
“Unless you’re too tired,” she said.
“I’m not too tired,” he answered.
When she had finished getting ready for bed, Mark joined her in her room. Gina was sitting at her dresser brushing her hair and did not acknowledge him when he came in.
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