4 comments/ 15323 views/ 17 favorites Just Ask Ch. 01 By: haydentwaters Warning: You're probably not gonna get off to this story, at least not this chapter. If you plagiarize this work, remember that you'll never reproduce anything that sounds like it. ;) ***** "Yes baby, your ass is so tight! You're so fucking hot." I love it when they say that. Here I am, riding the semi-decent cock of the semi-douchebag who picked me up at the club, having what until then had been a semi-decent fuck, and then the guy goes and says something like that. I love when they talk dirty to me. "Fuck me harder!" I command. His thrusts pick up and strike deeper inside me. I moan as the waves of pleasure roll through my entire body, and I swivel my hips to meet his strokes. I wish I could get out of my head and just enjoy this. As fun as this is, it could be way more fun. I open my eyes and look for the bowl. It's on the table next to the bed. Still fucking, I reach over and lift the bowl and the lighter off the table and to my lips. I light the contents of the bright piece and I close my eyes as I inhale. The smoke is bitter and harsh, but I'm not new to it. I hold my breath, double inhale. My lungs are full and I'm suppressing the urge to cough. It's perfect. The fresh high hits me, compounds what I smoked before I went out. I haven't even exhaled yet. I circle my hips over the cock in my ass, press in when it aims to explore deeper. What little discomfort I felt before is gone- I am gloriously numb. "You gonna exhale babe?" I look at the man beneath me, his scratchy chest hair under my hands. A forgettable face and a body I will have to work to forget tomorrow, yet he's the one who took me home. I've been holding in my hit for a long time now. I'm a singer, breathing is one of the things I do best. I make eye contact with the man, lean in, and exhale right into his hungry kiss. I push everything out, and I squeeze his cock with my ass, feeling it driving in me. The man moans as he exhales, and I relax on his chest as I catch my breath. I had to have been holding that hit for at least two minutes. My cock is pinned against his stomach. I can feel it in his stomach hair. I hate body hair. How desperate am I right now, fucking a man who turns me off? I sit back up, ready to finish this and go home. I've had my fun. I start really working my hips, and I play up my moans for good effect. My cock's been soft for twenty minutes now, but I'm playing like this is the best sex I've ever had. The sad part is that I can tell it's working. The man beneath me is visibly more aroused, and his breath is coming less easy. His face and chest are getting red, and his rhythm is quickly adopting a more staccato approach. He won't be long, which is good, because the lube from his condom is almost worn out and I'll need more soon. May as well just end it and move on. From the way the man below me is bucking, there won't be much more to endure. I muscle into overdrive, seeing as how I'm doing all the work anyway. The man is trying to hold back, but the heat and grip of my ass is really getting to him. I play his nipples in my hands and bite at his chest. It'd be really great if he could stop fighting me, because I've been ready to leave for a while. I think he's almost ready to go over the edge when he says it: "Yeah bitch, you like my cock? Take it like a bitch, I know you love it, you little whore." If I could have a small band follow me around and play the soundtrack to my life, the percussionist would have played a record scratching just then. I didn't have that, but any mood I was in died just then. "Excuse me?" I stopped my hips, drew my hands off his body in repulsion. "Don't stop, bitch! I'm close!" Clearly the man didn't understand his offense. "What was my one stipulation?" I demanded of him. The high that had me in a good mood was now the same force that made me hyper-aware. I could feel my anger driving a hole into his face. The man was struggling to continue fucking me. My long, muscular thighs had his torso on lockdown, preventing him from fucking me. "I said keep going, bitch! I'm about to finish! Now where do you want it, you sexy little slut?" I fought back the urge to maul him like I fought back the urge to cough earlier. But I'm the bigger person- literally, since he stands more than a foot shorter than me. "What was my one rule?" I ask again. I slip off his cock and move to get off the bed and back into my shorts. The man grabs my arm, hard enough to intend to leave a bruise. "Where do you think you're going? We've got business to finish?" I yank my arm from his grip and stand up, locating my shorts with difficulty in the darkness. "I said I don't want to be demeaned. What the fuck was that?" The man looks angry. Well, frustrated. I'm sure I would be too, if I was having any fun. I have my shirt on before he realizes what he's done. Suddenly he's all apologetic, and rushes off the bed to where I am collecting my things. "Baby, I'm sorry, I got carried away. I know you said that, but I was so turned on by that sexy body, and I just couldn't help what I was sa-" I wave my hand to cut him off. I can't find my shoes, but I'd got them for a dollar at Old Navy anyway. I have my wallet, my keys, my phone, and my clothes. I have everything else that I came in with, I can leave the shoes. "I don't want your fake apologies." I say to him, heading toward the door. "I told you what I didn't want, and I told you what would happen if you messed up." The guy seems to finally realize that I am serious about leaving. He catches up to me as I am about to open the door, wraps his arms around my stomach from behind. In a taller man, I suppose the gesture would have been romantic. However, from way up where I was at six four, he feels like a midget to me. I break his grip, though he tries to resist, and I turn around. "Have fun jacking off tonight." I say, looking down at his face. He comes up to my sternum, God! The short daddies always develop attachment issues. "Thanks for trying." With that, I close the door to his motel and start my walk. The sky was clear, and the night pleasant. I've walked home in worse conditions before. I check my phone- 3:38AM. This may actually be good for me. I put on what I think of as my "big city" walk- shoulders back, spine straight, confident gait. I cut an impressive figure when I walk. I use the same confident walk that I use when I go to auditions. No one bothers you if you look pissed off and dangerous; and with my broad shoulders, height, and walk, I feel like I pass for both. I hate boring sex. This was supposed to be my fun weekend, my break, and I couldn't seem to catch a break. I was supposed to go out, get hella blazed, fuck a stranger, wake up tomorrow and get my life together. Instead I ended up with half a high and unsatisfying sex. It's a good thing that guy lives so close to town, because walking in this part of the mountains at this time of night is dangerous. Not because I'm threatened by the thought of being mugged (by who? Maybe a thousand people live here), but because I'm afraid of being run over by the idiot drivers in this area. I look up again at the sky as I walk. I love going to school in the mountains. Up here, I live in the valley, and the peak of the mountain is a ten minute drive; and in the valley, the stars are so brilliant and plenty. You don't see that back home. There are so many stars in the sky that I can hardly see the sky behind the stars. I want to stop and look at them, really look at them. I'm also high, so why the fuck not? I plant my happy ass in the middle of the road, lay down, and look at the stars. I would love to be a star. Stars are so real. I wish I could be real like that. I bet stars don't have subpar sex with pint-sized Smoky Bears; I bet stars have amazing, explosive sex. I get a little horny on the road, thinking about sex. I can feel my dick responding. I think briefly about taking my dick and just stroking myself off here in the middle of the road; but even high, I know it's a bad idea to lay here for much longer. I start the arduous process of getting up, leaving behind the comforting warmth of the blacktop. I get back on the side of the road and dust myself off, bits of road falling back to the ground. I am just about to start walking when I hear a car approaching from behind. Momentarily, my panic rises as I think it's the man from earlier. There is forest on the other side of the road, I think perhaps I can escape there if necessary. I walk again, not wanting to look any more suspicious but also not wanting to look threatened. When the car slows down and pulls up next to me, I am prepared for the worst. I've got my phone in my hand in my pocket, ready to dial 911. I've got my lighter in the other hand, ready to... defend myself. Somehow. But when the car's window rolls down, it's not the guy from earlier. It's some guy on the football team at school. I relax my grip on my phone and lighter. Okay, he's not really "some guy", he's definitely the hottest one, I've definitely fantasized about him wrecking me in the locker room; but I don't chase straights. "Hey, don't we go to school together?" he asks. His face is a mixture of concern and doubt. I have no idea how I look right now. The guy I just left found out I love my hair pulled and really ran with it. He also found out how much I love to be bitten and choked. I probably look like the missing link. "Yep. You're on the football team." I say, because I am smooth and an in no way awkward. "And you're a PA!" he says, face lighting up. I'm high as balls, and that might be affecting my thinking; but I swear that the entire cab of the guy's SUV just lit up from his smile. Holy shit, this guy is a fucking picture! I smile ruefully, recognizing the shorthand. "Yeah, I'm in the performing arts department. Couldn't hide it." He laughs at my lame joke. I guess he's feeling just as awkward as I am. I hope he'll invite me into his car soon. "I knew I'd seen you around campus!" I nodded. I'm not sure how else I can add to this forced conversation; plus, I'd really like to know if he's going to give me a ride or if I have to keep walking. The guy gives me a sympathetic look. "Where you going? You want a ride to campus, man?" Um, fuck yes. "That'd be sweet." I say. He leans over and opens the passenger door for me, and I waste no time hopping in. The interior of his car is spacious and smells like Christmas. I close his door and he speeds along the road to campus. "It smells like nutmeg in here." I comment. The guy laughed. "It's a car freshener. I buy up all the snickerdoodle refills at Christmas so I can have them year-round." Oh great. A romantic. I'm glad it's dark because he can't see me roll my eyes. "That's cute." I say. He laughs again. "Whatever, you don't have to be polite. I'm a white girl inside." This time I am genuinely moved to laugh, though only a chuckle. He's lame, but he knows it. "So where am I dropping you off?" he asked, eyes on the road. I want to say his room. I want to say my room, with him in it. I want to tell him to pull the car over, put down the back seats, and fuck me senseless in the back of his car. But instead I tell him where I live. "Oh, the honors dorm, huh? Shoulda known, since I hardly understand anything you say in class." We both laugh, but my mind is racing. Do I know this guy from class? I go through my schedule. He's definitely not in any of my PA classes, those are so small I'd know. He's not in any of my English classes either, those are pretty small too. I look at him. He is slouched at the wheel, in a nondescript hoodie which does nothing to complement his statuesque figure. He's way too normal and fit to be in either of my departments. The only class that made sense would be my lit class. I take a chance. "Dr. Jockey loves it when I talk. He thinks everything I say is gold." The guy laughs again. "For real though! I remember when you got him talking about gender and bees while we were reading Henry III. That shit was hilarious!" I remember him from class now. This gorgeous jock sits behind me and to the right, which is why I never see him. He never talks in class, he just shows up and listens to me debate Shakespeare with Dr. Jockey. What was his name? Jake? That's why I was so slow to recognize him from class- he's a much more frequent guest in my fantasies. I do remember the bee thing. Dr. Jockey started the comparison; I only corrected it. I work up my best Dr. Jockey voice and say, "I am NOT getting into a gender issue about bees!" We both crack up, and the tension in the car loosens palpably. I look out the window, and I see the downtown strip passing by. We'll be at my dorm soon. I decide to just go for it. "Listen, I don't mean to be a dick; but I'm super high and I don't think I know your name." Apparently honesty was the way to go, because Hot Jock looks at me and says, "I'm Jackson. Pleasure to formally meet you." He offers his hand for me to shake, the one he's been using to shift gears. I take it, and tell him my name. "I'm Hayden." We shake, and I swear his hand fits mine perfectly. His hand is warm and strong, I immediately picture it exploring the best parts of my body. I feel goosebumps running up my arm and I know for certain I've got it bad for Jackson. The car rolls to a stop. We're outside my dorm. I open the car door but don't get out. The cab light turns on. "Thanks for the ride," I say. "No problem," he breathes. It's very quiet in the car now. This straight guy has been giving me mixed signals all night. I look at his eyes, and find they are looking right back at me. The tension's back again, only different this time. I get the distinct feeling that this beautiful man wants to kiss me. I look at his heart-shaped face, the dark brunette hair, the chocolate eyes. I don't trust myself to venture further down, where I know his beautiful body is waiting for me. I distinctly want to kiss this beautiful man- excuse me, his name is Jackson. If he did it right now, I would let him. And I would let him do so much more. If he asked. But he's not going to ask, because he's straight. And I don't pursue straight guys. Jackson draws a breath. The moment passes, and I climb out of the SUV. "See you around," Jackson calls as I close his passenger door. I strut up the walkway to my dorm's door. I turn around and wave at him, conscious of the very short shorts I am wearing. I stick my key in the door and turn it, and the door opens. Jackson is waiting in his car to make sure I get in my dorm okay. I'm so high, I can hardly believe what I'm about to do. I turn around, look him dead in those gorgeous brown eyes, and I wink at him. He gives me a huge smile and I return it with a smaller, slower one; and I slink into my dorm and close the door. I lean against it as I listen to Jackson driving away. I breathe deeply, and I'm not sure if the hallway is pounding because I'm so high, or because of what I just did. I do know this: I'm never skipping my Shakespeare lecture again. Just Ask Ch. 02 Read more about a romantic burnout and his hunky jock crush... Thank you for the positive response! * * * * * * I wake up in my bed, tangled in the covers. My tongue is fat from the cottonmouth, so I lean over to my dresser and grab my mug. I always keep water in it because I wake up thirsty. The water tastes like it's from Jesus himself, and I gulp it down greedily. I kick my way out of the covers. I sit up, my head in my hands. My room faces east, so the sun is never shy about saying hello in the mornings. I look around my room. It's a disaster. You can always tell if my life is going to hell if my room looks like it just survived a storm. I look at the clock, see that it's eleven-oh-six, and I sigh. The brunch meal at the caf starts at eleven, and they close at one, so I better get moving if I want to enjoy all of my mealtime. My feet touch the floor, just testing it at first, then they bear my weight and I stumble over to the mirror. I really am a hot mess. I'm in last night's outfit, last night's sex hair, last night's eyeliner... I could use a shower. All of this is permissible until I spot my neck. Fuck me. That old fuck from last night left choke marks on my neck. I squint at the marks. They are bad, worse than I can cover up. "Guess I'll wear a scarf." I say. I shrug my shoulders and clean myself up some. I throw on some sweats I found on the floor, a shirt that looks clean enough, and I hide my hair under a beanie. After I reapply my eyeliner and grab my things I am ready to leave. I slip into some flip flops and exit my dorm. The mountains are looking great today- you can really see the blue on the peaks. The fall colors are blazing on the trees, so the whole side of the mountain looks like a painting. It's a sunny day, the wind is chill for the area, and it's not as cold as it could be. So what, I have choke marks on my neck. So what, there are probably scratch marks on my back. I should probably check my wrists, I don't remember if I was restrained last night... I walk up the hill from my dorm, towards the caf. It's a bit of a hike, since the school is almost a mile up in the mountains. Pieces of last night flash back to me. The club. Getting ready. The man who took me home. Looking at the stars. And also... Jackson. Holy fuck. I've been jacking off to Jackson since who knows when, and I'm eighty percent sure we had a moment. Like a moment moment. There were sparks, I'm sure of it. I grumble to myself, hating myself for jumping straight to "sparks". The guy gave me a ride to my dorm, that's nothing special. I would have done the same. But Jackson is about the most beautiful man I have ever seen. And he was giving me all the right signals, they were just... subtle. I crest the top of the hill. I can see the caf at the base of the other side. I wish I had smoked a bowl before I went to the caf. All those people stress me out. If I smoke a bowl, I can enjoy being around people. Otherwise, I get anxious. I sigh, and put my hands in my pockets, wishing for some bud. My right hand detects something unfamiliar in my pocket, so I grope about and finally seize it. I look down at the object in my hand. It's a pill. A little nude-colored pill. I've just found a Vyvanse in my pocket. Naturally, I pop it and walk into the caf. It'll kick in in about thirty minutes. I walk down the stairs and open the door to the caf itself, and swipe my card at the cashier register. No one's at the station, which isn't supposed to happen, but who really cares? It's not like the students are lined up at the door to eat the shitty food here. I immediately spot a group of people I wouldn't mind sitting with. They're all seated at the other side of the caf, near the big windows. Before I begin the journey to get over there, I decide it'd be smarter to pick up food first. I browse the hot section, knowing that the food will be mostly things I am allergic to. Surprise, it's biscuits and gravy. Moving on. I find the scrambled eggs and load my plate. I turn away from the bar, and I nearly knock into a massive set of pecs. I freeze all my muscles, barely saving my eggs and the stranger's jiggling pecs. Is he laughing at me? I look up to his face, slightly annoyed at having to raise my head to see someone. Then my heart stops. It's Jackson. Jackson, with his perfect face and sexy just-woke-up stubble. He's in his pyjamas too- though his shorts and tee fit him way tighter than my baggy ensemble. He seems to be tickled by the situation. "Your reaction time is impeccable." He says. Wow, does he purr when he talks? "Yeah, well, you scared me." I retort. "Do you always take compliments so well?" he asks, raising one perfect eyebrow. Okay, he wants to play? I'll play. "Do you always give such bland compliments?" I brush past him and reach for the tater tots, as if they had been my destination all along. He follows, and takes the other serving tongs. "Was that a challenge?" he throws a sidelong glance at me, one corner of his mouth raising in a smirk. I put my tongs down but keep the plate in my hand, like I have somewhere to be. I turn and face him, looking right into his gorgeous brown eyes. They really do remind me of Hershey's. I eye him critically, as is pondering whether he was worth an answer, but really I'm just buying time. I finally decide how to respond. "Wow me." I challenge. He meets my gaze with equal confidence. "Fine," he says, then leans in to me. His lips are brushing my ear and we are in full view of anyone who would happen to glance up from their food. I am absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe. I've had a lot of sex, but have rarely felt so intimate and exposed. "You look sexy as hell looking like you just rolled out of bed, and your hair smells amazing," I never even thought I'd be close enough to Jackson for him to develop an opinion on the scent of my hair, yet here I am. His lips juuusssst brush my ear and it's sending shivers throughout my entire body. I am so incredibly turned on. Jackson continues his efforts, "And your eyes remind me of the ocean." Suddenly I am turned off. "Really?" I say, taking a step back, "Remind you of the ocean?" I'm snickering now, because what he just said was so ridiculous. "Shall thou compare me to a summer's day?" Now he's beginning to crack up, too. "I'd rather just come out and tell you how hot you are." I glare at him ruefully. His smirk is growing in size, rapidly becoming a shit-eating grin. The bastard knows he's won. "Well, sir, I am flattered for sure. But I think I need to cool off now." I take my plate and turn to leave. If I stay any longer, I know I'm gonna say something real fucking stupid. Or awkward. Jackson didn't let me get away so easily. He casually fell in my step, following me to the drink fountain. "Alright, you cool off. But you let me know when you want to heat things up again." I felt my face flush. Heat things up again? Were we ever hot? I don't think so, but boy would I like to be right now. He could have me scrambled, over easy, sunny side up, and he could especially have me runny... but I won't let him win the game. "We'd have to have a first time to have an again." I walk away with purpose now, having filled my cup with the one flavor of Gatorade my caf offers. I congratulate myself for having successfully won the mixed signals flirting game, when I hear Jackson's last retort: "I'm down whenever, baby." Oh God. I should have worn underwear with these sweats. I am tenting. I make like I don't hear him and sit with my friends. I'll admit, I'm a little bit hard from that interplay. Okay, I'm hard because Jackson was basically growling into my ear, and because Jackson made me squirm standing up. I would love to steam things up with Jackson. The winters here are pretty harsh, it'd be nice to have smoking-hot Jackson laying me out every night. And morning. And afternoons, in the bathroom of the student center, up against the stall walls. I've got to get it together. I can't even focus on what my friends are saying. I'm hoping the Vyvanse will kick in soon, because I'd really like to get out of my head. One of my friends says something vaguely amusing, and the whole table laughs, so I laugh to feign investment. Really, I'm trying my best not to look in the direction of Jackson. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to look at him. He's sitting with the rest of the football team, where he always does; but this time his seat is openly angled toward me. He hasn't looked away from my direction in minutes, and I don't want to give him the satisfaction of catching me sneaking a peak. And then I wonder why I'm playing coy. I only play coy when I want someone to think I could be interested, if they worked hard enough. Jackson doesn't have to work hard enough- as far as my fantasies are concerned, he's a regular visitor. He's a VIP guest. He's got his own frequent flyer miles. But I don't chase straights. That's one of my few rules, and it's a rule by which I stand firm. It's never led me astray, and it keeps me from being beat up at clubs. Maybe Jackson is looking to experiment, and he wants someone who knows what they're doing. It makes sense, I've probably got the best moves he'll find on campus. And I would gladly rock his world. That's when I realize how bad I've got it. If Jackson offered, I would hop on that dick the first chance I got and I would ride it until Jackson couldn't physically ejaculate any more. I get harder just thinking about it. So maybe it's worth investing a little more effort in after all. I finally gather my courage enough to meet Jackson's gaze. I was right, he is looking at me. Well, staring really. He's eyeing me like he's trekking the Adobe and I'm the first canteen he's seen in days. At first we just stare, then his lips start moving. I'm think about how those lips would feel on the sharp angles of my hip bone when I notice he's trying to communicate with me. I squint my eyes, working hard to read his lips. It looks like he's saying... blow... fumble? I'm so confused. I openly show my confusion and mouth "What?" to him. He tries using a gesture that I don't understand. My face reads only confusion and riddle. His gestures get bigger, and his expression more animated, and his whole team is watching us, and so are his friends, and suddenly I feel a lot less sexy about this whole game. Jackson is in the middle of some very complicated-looking interpretive dance when one of his teammates finally grows tired of it. Exasperated, he yells out to me, "He wants your phone number!" and the whole caf erupts in laughter. His teammates are bumping fists and making gaga eyes at each other. I may vomit. I roll my eyes and try not to show how badly I want to hide. Even my friends have tuned in to what's going on, though none of them understand any more than I did a few seconds ago. Another one of his teammates pipes up. "Aren't you gonna give it to him?" Jackson's face pales. Another raises his voice. "Yeah, he's been hoping you'll give it to him since freshman year!" Jackson looks like he's about to shit himself, and he punches his friend in the arm. His friend yelps, and the whole table laughs again, and everyone is still looking at me, and I don't quite see what's funny. Jackson gets up, detaches himself from his crew, and swaggers over to me. The whole caf is glued to Jackson crossing the entirety of the space to get to me. It takes forever, but he finally reaches me. He leans over the table, resting his elbows and what I assume to be washboard abs on the table. His face is inches from mine. My dick does not miss this. His eyes are sparkling, and his smile comes easy, but his physical demeanor indicates anything but comfort. In fact, he seems anxious. Seeing Jackson trying to put on a show for his buds as he asks for my number, which he obviously is worried about getting, puts me at ease. I thought I was the only one who was afraid of fucking up- turns out, Jackson is just as unsure about handling me as I am him. I decide to give him this one easy. "Would you do me the honor of giving me your number?" he says in a low voice, and all I can see are his eyes. They fill my vision, and they are so brilliant I forget about my peripherals. I didn't know he had gold specks in the chocolate oceans... okay, maybe his ocean comparison wasn't so lame after all. I see it now. "I'd love to, but..." the caf is silent now, and Jackson is trying hard to keep control of his mask. I have an intense desire to see behind it, and to let him see behind mine. "But what?" he says. I laugh apologetically. "I don't have a pen." Beside me, my friend groans. Jackson gives me a look that I imagine I elicit from lots of people, and out of nowhere a sharpie materializes in my friend's hand. I look at her, and she's absolutely nuts with innuendo, and I turn back to Jackson. I take his hand, which is searing with heat and just a bit slick, and I slide it toward me to extend his arm. I stencil the digits on his forearm, trying hard to focus on my number despite the fog in my brain and the uncomfortable tightness in my pants. Jackson's arm is so strong, and he smells like fresh Christmas, and his breath is right in my face. Thank God he brushes his teeth. Did I brush my teeth this morning? Maybe he's too focused on my hair to notice. It's so hard for me to focus. I don't normally get this way about guys, but this one is by far the hottest who has ever hit on me. I barely know what I'm doing with a guy this far out of my league. When I am finished, I cap the pen and press my thumb into Jackson's hand. I look into his eyes one more time. Once more, I get the distinct feeling that Jackson wants to kiss me. I sure know what I'd like to be doing with Jackson, and it's got a lot more than kissing involved. I let his palm go. He smiles at me, leans in a little closer, and whispers, "Thanks." He smirks at me, slides his torso off the table, and slinks back to his table with his buds. They catcall and hoot, and Jackson has the biggest grin. I suppose I'm grinning too. He looks at me and winks, real slow. I might shoot. Eventually, the caf settles down and everyone goes back to their own routines. I have almost recovered to the point where I am comfortable getting ready to leave, and I say goodbye to my friends. As I'm depositing my dishes in the return, I feel a buzzing in my pocket. No way. Already? It's from him. A text from an unknown number. What are you doing this afternoon? I look up, at Jackson. He's smiling at me... then he winks. I think I know exactly what I'm doing this afternoon. Just Ask Ch. 03 I check my phone again, placing my dishes in the return. What are you doing this afternoon? Beats me. Other than napping and Netflix, I didn't have any plans for today. I am still flushed and confused from Jackson asking for my number not even a minute ago, and I have no idea how to respond. I don't want to seem uncool, but I also don't want to seem aloof. I decide that since honesty worked before, it will probably work again. My fingers fly over my keyboard. I don't have any plans. I hit send, and make my way out of the caf. As I pass Jackson's table, we make eye contact. He points to his phone, makes a questioning gesture. I point back to my own and wink at him. As he turns back to his phone, I pass through the caf doors and begin ascending the stairs. My phone buzzes. It's Jackson. Would you like to make plans with me? My response is instinctive. I would! I am up the stairs now, leaving the caf building. I step outdoors and the sunshine is an onslaught; I have to sit at the nearest bench until my vision can recover. The vyvanse I took is making my pupils huge. No wonder the light hurts so bad. My phone buzzes again. I'll pick you up by your dorm in one hour. Dress to be outside. My eyes have adjusted enough that I can get off the bench. I start on my next set of stairs and ascend quickly. My heart races at the thought of going on a date with Jackson. Fucking Jackson! Last night I was fucking a slob and I was in full hot mess mode. Today I'm going on a date with a ten. I'm in sweats, I haven't showered or brushed my teeth, and I'm covered in sex marks. Perhaps it's time I take a new approach to the way I live. I finish the climb to get to my dorm and I let myself in. My room is right next to the main door, and I practically run to it. I open the door, look around, and immediately come to conclusion that Jackson absolutely cannot see the inside of my room. I fight with the urge to clean it, but ultimately, I decide that I need all the time I can get to make myself semipresentable. I shuck my clothes and stand in front of my mirror to assess the damage. It is bad, but not as bad as I thought. My neck, chest, and shoulders are covered in bite marks. There are no marks on my wrists, so I probably wasn't restrained. The finger marks on my neck have faded some. My hair is a nest of evil, but that can be fixed with a shower and a straightener. My eyeliner is fucked up and cracked, my face is haggard, and my body is peppered with scratch marks. "Damn, and this isn't even rock bottom." I tell myself. My reflection appears unconvinced as we turn this way and that, taking in the scope of last night's consequences. "You need to shower, hot stuff. You're a fucking mess." My reflection agrees. I gather my shower things and wrap a towel around my waist. I close the door to my room behind me and head for the showers, hoping that no one sees me. I'm not ashamed of my body, because I am a dancer and I worked hard for my body; but I am ashamed of the passion marks that decorate it. If any of my neighbors saw this, they would probably not be surprised. I hurry anyway. I hop in the shower and start the water running. I have it as hot as it will go and let the water wash my soreness away. I just hang my head for a minute, enjoying the feel of the hot water on my aching body. I breathe deeply, and all the anxiety that I feel is focused by the combination of breath and vyvanse. I turn my anxiety into motivation. I am going to get cleaned up, I tell myself. I am going to go on a fantastic date today, I say. Step one is shampoo. I clean my hair, my teeth, and my body. I gently massage myself with the shower gel, starting at my pecs and arms and working my way slowly down. I trace the hard muscles of my torso, lean and flexible from years of intense modern dance training. My legs are strong and very well defined, huge dancer thighs and solid calves. I give my feet some love, going over the arches with small circles of pressure. Finally, I feel like I'm ready to get out. I dry off, tie my long, wet hair back, and then I set myself up at the bathroom mirror. I shave, scrub my face, and poke a dissatisfied finger at my marks. Cold quarters couldn't help me now if they were subzero. When I get back in my room, I look at the disaster zone and curse myself for not doing laundry more frequently. I pick some weird Asian pants that I look great in, a soft comfy tee, and some sneakers. I couldn't get all of last night's eyeliner off, but what remained looks like fresh-applied, so I leave it. Then I set to work covering up what I can. I am used to covering things like this up, so it doesn't take very long for my practiced hand to conceal most of my marks. I have to use green toner for most of it, but almost every mark is manageable. The choke marks are what they are, and I do my best. Even after I'm finished, they're still faintly present. It will have to do. I pull my newly clean hair back into a bun, opting for easy. I have just grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone and am heading out the door when my phone buzzes. I check the text- it just says here. My heart rate speeds up again. It's happening. I'm going out on a date. A real date. With a gorgeous man. With someone my own age. With someone who is interested in me when they are sober. I can't remember the last time any of this happened to me. I nab my small backpack on the way out the door. It's got everything from water to weed to emergency medical supplies. Who knows where today will take me? I lock my door and head out the dorm's front door- excited, a little nervous, and optimistic for the first time in months. * * * * * * When I step outside, Jackson's black SUV is idling on the shoulder of the road. The tinted window rolls down and reveals Jackson's stunning smile. He's wearing sunglasses, and I can see most of his perfect white teeth. "Get in," he grins, and I open the door without hesitation. I look at him as I settle in. He's got black athletic shorts and a blue t-shirt on. I laugh. "Guess we're twins today." I joke. He looks at my clothes and then at his own. "Shit, I guess so. Great minds, huh?" He flashes another dazzling smile at me. I return it. "You have a gorgeous smile," he says. I smile bigger and thank him for the compliment. He throws the car into gear and we begin our adventure. I lean back in the seat, the picture of comfortable. "So," I say, "What's the agenda for today?" "How does rock hopping sound?" he replies. A small, rocky river runs through campus, and when the weather is nice students flock to it. It's perfect for sunbathing, hiking, wading, and (my favorite)- rock hopping. "Sounds perfect. I haven't been since last summer." "Me either," Jackson replies, "I've been itching to go for weeks now, but it's been such a shitty winter that there was no way." This year's winter had been especially harsh- more than three feet of snow, nothing but black ice, and constantly subzero temps. "It's been so long since we had any sun," I say. "I almost forgot what it looks like." Jackson laughs at this. "You strike me as more of a night owl anyway." I laugh too, and I roll my eyes. Considering how he found me last night, I can't do much else. "I can't argue that. I can't even remember the last time I went outside for fun." He chortles and makes the last turn for the river. The roads in town are winding and narrow, and the view is spectacular. Mountains greet us at every turn, shimmering blue in the distance. On a sunny day like this, when the air is clear and the wind is mellow, being outside and alive is simply a joy. I love every second of it. My feet squirm in anticipation of feeling the rocks and the moss. Jackson throws the car in park and we step out of the tinted protection of his car into the exhilarating sunshine. I breathe deep and look out at the millpond which feeds the river. The ducks are milling about the pond, hoping for some bread. They are fat and lazy; tourists feed them so often that they don't even fly south for the winter. The asshole geese are also out. I note their general location and resolve to stay far away from them, because they are known to rush pedestrians for the fun of it. I turn over my shoulder to where Jackson is standing by the driver's side of the vehicle, and I find him staring at me. I flash him a smile. "Ready?" I ask. He smiles. "So ready." We walk down to the river, trying to find the best spot to enter. We duck under sparse, thin trees and hop over boulders of increasing size. The river has always been there, but since the college sprang up the river has been landscaped some to make it easier to enjoy. Hence the convenient boulders. We hop the last boulder on the shoulder of the river and climb our way up to the top of the tallest rock. We pause for a minute, to look at the river. I feel Jackson approach me from behind, which puts my entire body on immediate alert. He leans into my ear and speaks low. "There's an awesome man-made overlook about a half hour's hike down the river." he growls. I feel the rush of him standing so close. " I figured we could head there and see where else the day takes us." I know the exact spot. I smoke there all the time in the summer. "That's my favorite spot on the river," I tell him. I feel him leave from behind me and I remember that I haven't exhaled in a while. We start climbing down the rock and making our way down the river. He gives me an impish grin. "Is that where you take all your paramours?" I bark out a laugh. "My paramours? That's a rather specific word." "I like it. It's dark. Mysterious, even." "Ah, is that how you think of me? Dark? Mysterious?" I quip. "Perhaps even-" I lean into him, and hear his sharp intake of breath, "exotic?" We stare at each for a moment, not more than a few inches apart. The energy between us is palpable, thick with tension. Jackson speaks first. "You make exotic so sexy." Any tension flies out the window and I laugh, so hard that I have to sit down. Jackson joins me, laughing himself. "I'm sorry," he says, "That was way corny." "Yeah," I say, "It was. But I think I'll get over it just fine." I'd rather have him over me. Just sitting next to him is lighting up my body like I've never experienced. He makes my chest tight, my head foggy. I am absolutely crazy. "I need to take my shoes off. I can't do this with the shitty traction." I say. "I think I'll join you!" he says, and we both remove our shoes. Somehow we manage to fit both pairs in my bag, despite their size. We could probably better use them as canoes. We finish the rest of rock hopping in relative comfort and ease, though the underlying sexual tension is enough to make me scream. Along the way, we talk and joke, and we get know each other better. He tells me he is double majoring in athletic training and business, and I tell him I'm also double majoring, but in musical theatre and english. He tells me how he used to be involved in the student government association and beta omicron theta, but dropped both because he was having trouble managing his time with his other obligations. I know the feeling well; I tell him that I used to preside over the presidential honors society and the a cappella group. He tells me about football, of which I understand almost nothing. He is a fullback, and from what I can gather it means he hits people really hard. He stands a few inches taller than me, so he must be at least six-seven. I talk a little about some of the contracts I've held and some of my writing, but neither of us are eager to talk about ourselves. The conversation flows as easily as the river does, and I find that I am attracted to his personality and intellect just as much as his body. Occasionally, our arms or legs brush when we take the same path through the water and rocks. When one of us mounts a large boulder, we turn back to help the other up. Interacting with him is so natural, and I the more we talk, the less nervous I am. I am constantly smiling a dopey smile, and he is always returning it. He steals glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking, and I have trouble keeping from openly ogling his body. I feel like an idiot. We finally reach the destination, a cute little mossy plateau overlooking a pool of water under the shade of tall, leafy trees. We set our things down and rest in the moss, enjoying the sunshine filtering down through the leaves. It couldn't be more perfect. Jackson turns to me, interrupting himself mid-sentence. "I don't mean to freak you out, but I also want to be open with you. I was hoping that we could smoke a bowl while we're here." I just stare at him. It absolutely just got more perfect. He stammers on, "I understand if you don't like weed, but it's such a great day and if you don't like it, I won't smoke it around you, but I-" I cut him off with a finger on his lips. His soft, perfect lips. Jackson's throat jumps. "Jackson," I say, savoring the way his name feels, "I am an unabashed pothead. I would love to light a bowl with you." Relief crossed Jacksons's face, and then it lit up with that entrancing smile again. "Great," he says, "Because I just got some new shit and I've been dying to try it out." I laugh. "How about we make a salad?" He laughs at that. "A salad on the first date? How healthy of you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dimebag. He takes the plant out and holds it underneath my nose. "Smell," he offers. I inhale deeply. I get a whiff of that familiar dank odor, and then something a bit more... sour? "Is that sour diesel?" I ask. He grins. "You're pretty good." "Years of practice," I say, and dig in my bag to offer some of my shit up to him. I take it out of the glass jar it lives in, unwrap it, and present it to Jackson for inspection. He takes the bud reverently, and holds it up to the light. It is light, sticky, and fluffy. "Is this... purple?" he asks. I nod my head. "Purple dream." Jackson whistles and hands it back to me. I dig out my grinder and my bowl, a brown Sherlock pipe, and I begin to load in. Jackson hands me his nug and I measure out an equal amount of both strains. Jackson watches me pack the bowl, his eyes focused on my fingers. I tamp down the pot and hand him the bowl and lighter. "This is about to be an intense salad," I say. "I doubt I'll ever enjoy a salad this much again," he says, and I laugh. He flicks the lighter and takes a hit, then immediately lets it out. I watch the smoke billow around me, tracing it back to that perfect mouth. When I meet his eyes, I see that he's been watching me the whole time. He grins, and my first instinct is to blush; but instead I grin back. I raise the bowl to my lips, light the salad, and breathe deep. I hand the bowl over to him and close my eyes. I lean back, count in my head, and then I let the hit out slow. I open my eyes to find him focused solely on me. "You really held that in." I nod. "I'm all about the experience." Jackson gives me an odd little look and then takes his next hit. This time, he holds it in and lets it out slow. I watch his eyes as the high hits him. It's incredible. He is transported to a different plane with that hit. "How ya feelin'?" I ask. He hands me the bowl. "Light," he says, and I laugh. He makes me laugh more than I usually laugh in a day. I take another hit and hand the bowl back to him. We pass it back and forth, joking about hit technique and observing nature, and we finish the bowl in easy time. When it's done, I empty it out on the ground beside and pack everything back in my bag. Jackson looks at me, suddenly anxious, smile gone. He grabs my arm, lightly, respectfully. "You aren't leaving, are you?" I look in his eyes. They are so vulnerable. That's exactly how I feel. "I wasn't planning on it. I was just putting things up, just in case." Jackson loosens up and his smile returns. His hand doesn't leave my arm, though, and I don't want it to. I decide to take a chance. I put my hand behind his head and I pull him in to me. I've never been so scared about being so forward before, and I don't want to fuck this one up; but I have to take the chance. I am inches from his face when I pause. He is staring right at me. His deep, brown eyes reflect my own worry and hesitancy. "Can I kiss you?" I ask. Jackson doesn't reply. Instead, he leans into me and closes the distance between our lips. They meet slow, soft, and the feel of his perfect lips pressed against mine ignite fireworks in my chest. His kiss sends me over the moon, I'm flying, I'm floating. I feel a thrill take hold of my body, and suddenly I'm in the best mood of my life. I've never been kissed like this before. We break away and smile. "I've been dreaming about kissing you for years," Jackson confesses. I am absolutely floored. I'd given up on any chance of experiencing a romance, and here one is dumped in my lap! I certainly wasn't about to let it go. For once, my mind wasn't foggy or hazy. For once, my tongue wasn't completely tied at the thought of trying to string together a coherent sentence around my dream man. He's been dreaming about kissing me for years? I've been blind. And I'm ready to see what other fantasies he has in store for me. "Then why did you stop?"