Bitch, I Love You - Sex Stories

Bitch, I Love You

"Ugh! I just need to get railed," Heather said. She was lying on my bed. Her biochem textbook was open, but it was splayed pages down across her stomach.

"And then you'll understand glycerol bonds?" I kicked the floor and let the swivel chair spin me around. The momentum carried me too far. I waited patiently for the second turn to complete. I'd also had about enough of hydrocarbons.

Heather stared at my dorm room ceiling. She'd been doing a lot of that for the past half hour. "If I couldn't walk, there'd be nothing to do but study for Miss Jensin's stupid midterm." She sounded downright wistful.

"There's a Chi Rho party tonight," I suggested.

She just groaned. "No. I don't want it to suck," she said.

"I kinda like Chi Rho." They had this elevated dance floor right next to a bunch of pong tables. Total frat vibes. But it was easy to bounce between drinking and dancing, which worked well for me.

"No, not the party. The sex. Hookup sex always sucks."

"This is college, dude. All the sex sucks."

"I know," Heather whined.

I chewed the problem over. It was more stimulating than carbon valences. "We could hit the bars. Try out some townies," I suggested. Marry Halance had put some miles on a farm boy sophomore year. She'd ended it when he started angling for something more, but it had hurt her to break his aw-shucks heart, so he must have been doing something right.

"We?" asked Heather. "You're in on this too?"

"Yeah, duh." I waved at ...

... the pile of discarded clothes in the corner of my room. An inside-out bra and mismatched panties sat right on top. "Does it look like I'm getting any?"

We both regarded my shameful pile. Not for the first time, I wondered what might be gestating under there. Maybe Miss Jensin could do her next lecture on that.

"I don't think it's a frat guy problem," Heather mused. "It's a first time problem. Think about it. Any decent guy is going to pussyfoot around until he figures out what you like. He'd be a total sociopath otherwise."

"In which case the sex will be fire, but then you've got a stalker."

"Yeah. Or worse."

I discarded my bio book. It hit the floor flush, making a satisfying thump. "What if we wore signs? They could say, 'Just so you know, I'm a total hoe,' or something."

"Mine would say, 'Don't be a bitch, hit one'," said Heather.

"If it worked, we could get tattoos."

"Tramp stamps?"

"Naturally."

Heather was quiet.

"Are you thinking what font you'd pick?" I asked.

"It wouldn't work," she said. "He'd think I wanted him to choke me or something."

"I thought you liked that?"

"No. Like, really choke me. Have you ever? It's fucking scary."

I threw my pen at Heather. "Stop fantasizing on my bed, hoe."

"College guys are mellons. You have to be so god damn specific every step of the way. It's fucking exhausting."

"I pretty much stopped trying," I admitted. "It's like, I'm trying to get leveled here, not direct my own ...