Exploring My Sexuality - Sex Stories

Exploring My Sexuality

She is beautiful. Everything I'm not in the looks department. Tall and thin with a cute face. An upturned nose and rosebud mouth. Wavy, beach blonde hair. She's the quintessential hot girl. I'm slightly overweight, and my greenish gray eyes are too close together.

Even if she were in my league, she's straight.

I'm straight too. At least I always thought so. Now I'm not so sure,

Angela Wright.

It's her talent that attracts me more than her looks. She's a creative writing major, and every time I read any of her work, it blows me away. She has a way of describing things that I'm not able to do. She's a master at showing rather than telling, and using words in ways that elude me. One word from her seems to be able to convey an entire range of emotions, whereas I tend to be verbose, requiring paragraphs to get the same feeling across. She'll probably be a best selling novelist before we graduate.

For me, writing is a hobby. I wish I could major in it. Really focus on it and create something meaningful and profound, but my parents insist on a "safe" major, so I chose computer science. It's ok. I probably wouldn't be very successful at a writing career anyway. It's better for me to stick with numbers and data.

Angela looks my way, and I snap my eyes back to my laptop. We're supposed to be doing a writing exercise where we imitate the style of a famous author. I have Emily Dickensen. I wonder who she has.

"Alright now, finish up your prose and have it in by ...

... 5:00 on Friday." the professor says, looking at the clock in the back of the room. He's a short, balding man in his 60's, and has had this job far too long. I bet he's been assigning and grading this particular exercise for 30 years.

Computers close, book bags are thrown over shoulders, and a collective murmur erupts in the room as everyone flies out of the lecture hall.

I follow the herd out double doors and onto the quad. Angela catches my eye and smiles.

Shit.

I quickly look away, wondering if she is going to call me out for staring at her in class. I hope I don't make her feel uncomfortable. That's not my intention. It's just that I admire her so much. I wonder how one person can have both talent and looks. I bet she's great at athletics too. Great at anything she tries. She was probably a popular cheerleader or a volleyball player in high school.

"Hey!" she calls out, and I turn around. "I really liked what you said about the Peterson article today." she says in a sort of sing-song, reminiscent of a valley girl voice.

"Um, thanks." I mutter.

"You're right about how biased it is," she continued. "I wouldn't have seen it as propaganda before you pointed it out."

"Well, it's religious, so..." I blush. I hope she won't be offended by my comment. Oh God, what if she goes to church 3 times a week? I should have just said thank you....

"I think you're really smart." she tells me. I sigh with relief and shrug with a hint of annoyance. She means it as a ...