ADude4Now

            The weeks following that night are kind of a blur. I think I tried nearly every position two people can have sex in–and three, and, yes, four. Sometimes I didn’t even know how many. I stopped showing up to classes–nearly failed, even. I got blackout drunk more than I care to remember, ended up with tattoos and piercings I couldn’t explain.  But I couldn’t get that voice out of my head: Daryl, mocking me, teasing me about the cocks I took in every orifice. Eventually, I decided enough was enough.  I bought two wardrobes: One full of proper, respectfully modest clothes for everyday use and one full of the slutties rags I could find. I attended classes, almost always with a vibrator in me, usually giving the remote to a fellow student. I started six different dating app profiles with fake names, each demanding quick, passionate sex, so I could get laid twice every night of the week, minimum. I even started studying, usually in the ...

       I don’t know how, but I didn’t see Daryl for years after that night. I must have slept with every able-bodied man on campus, more than once most of the time, but somehow Daryl managed to slip away. I graduated with a bachelor’s in business, coasting on my previous success in some classes, or simply sucking off the professors in others, but keeping my habit of never studying. Part of me remembered what Daryl said about how stupid these people were, how insignificant their intelligence was compared to mine. But frankly, I didn’t care. One guy I’d taken a particular liking to–mostly because of the considerable size of his manhood and voracious sexual appetite–happened to be rich, and managed to invest into some start-up that proved especially lucrative. Two years after we graduated, he slipped a ring onto my finger, and I haven’t needed to work a day since. Those years were great; he bought me everything I wanted: tit jobs, lip injections, tattoos, you name it, a...