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Brunette

A HUGE thank you goes out to Thatsbogus, a fellow author on this site, for the inspiration and insight into the male psyche, and the female one two, without whom this story would not be possible. This one’s for you. I would also like to thank my editor, JackBelland41 for the way he tames my complex sentences. Thank you Jack.

A Man Among Boys

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

I looked up from my prone position on the couch. I’d reread the same page of my stats textbook for at least the twentieth time, mostly due to the fact that it made little sense. I mean, why were we forced to take advanced mathematics when we weren’t going to use it after college? Really. Why? I gratefully tossed the book aside, using the interruption as an excuse to abandon the unintelligible page.

My best friend Deeana was dressed, waxed, and styled to perfection. Her long brown hair was fluffed and wavy, cascading nearly to her waist. Her makeup was also on point; lips painted a bright, fuck-me red, smokey eyes with thick false lashes, and highlighted cheekbones. She was wearing a leopard print tube top visible under a black cropped jean jacket, with bright red, skin-tight jeans, and black, three-inch heels with a handbag to match. Oh, and of course the final touch, a sparkling crystal choker with its dripping, dangling crystals that fell all among her exposed cleavage, tempting and teasing the eye.

“Dee, I’m just… I’m not feeling it tonight. I think I’ll stay home.” Cue gasp in 3, 2, 1…

“What?! You can’t stay here all by yourself, and besides, who will be my wing-man?”

“I’m sorry Dee, I really am. I’m just so sick of all these ‘bros,’ bro.” I laughed, then winced, at my own joke.

“You’re being dramatic. They aren’t that bad. Now go get out of those pjs and into something sexy.” I didn’t move even when she waved her handbag at my legs and slapped them lightly with the expensive leather.

“Yes, they are that bad,” I said dryly.

“I think they’re all fun and sexy.”

“Oh sure, fun, yes. Sexy, of course. But after a while it gets old pretending all the time and playing the game.”

Dee looked at me in puzzlement, then asked, “What game? Like, tonsil hockey?”

I laughed only to keep myself from crying.

“No, you goof. The Game.” She stared at me blankly and I sighed. “Aren’t you getting tired of going out every weekend to the bars and the clubs, dancing with all these sweaty, backwards-hat wearing, tight tank-top having, skinny-jean clad bros? We don’t ever have any conversation with them that is worth a damn. We just end up grinding and kissing all night only to leave them with wood in their pants and go home to vibe one out ourselves.”

“Hey, you vibe one out; I have sex.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not exactly a secret. You fuck loudly, Dee.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “And you could get laid too, you know. You don’t have to go home alone.” She studied my face, saw the resolution in my eyes. “Come oooonnnn, pleeaasse,” she begged. “I can’t go alone, I’ll get mugged or something.”

“You know I have taken plenty to bed; we live together. But every single one of them are lousy fucks, and you know it. Not once, not even once have I gotten off with a single ‘bro’.”

“Then you’re not doing it right.” That shut me up for a minute. Was she right? Was it me?

“Tell me, please. What am I doing wrong?”

“I dunno,” Dee blushed.

“Well what do you do to get off with them?” I asked.

“I, well…” Dee started and then trailed away, blushing. This was a pretty picture, one I stored away to tease her with later. The irony of Dee getting flustered over sex when she was fucked pretty much every single weekend by a new hunky stud was too good. “I dunno, you just let them take the lead. Let them do what they do. Maybe that’s the problem, you fight it too much. Just kind of let go.”

“What does that look like for you, letting go? Because I do let them lead, and every time it’s all about them. I suck their cock, I get bent over and fucked by them or they lay on top of me and they fuck me. You really get off on that? Just servicing them?” I could see the wheels turning in Dee’s head. Her pretty brow wrinkled, and her fuck-me red lips pursed.

“Well… I guess… it’s like… hmmm…” she cocked her head and I waited. It was best to let Dee’s brain take her to wherever it was going to go in her own good time. “I think I do like it. I like being desired, and like, so hot they have to use me that way. Like… it’s about being used. That turns me on… I think, gets me off.”

“I see…” My insides plummeted. So confirmation. It was me. “Thank you, Dee, for telling me. I know that was hard for you.”

“Not like, hard exactly. I just never had to think about it before.” She saw the look on my face and ruffled my pony tail. “Hey, you ok?” I looked up and smiled at her. For all her ditz and glam, she really was super sweet with one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. There was a reason we were best friends after all.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Thanks Dee.”

“I think I know halkalı escort what just might cheer you up,” Dee said after a pause and I rolled my eyes. She just wouldn’t give up and I loved her too much to take my frustration with my sex life out on her.

“Ok, fine, give me ten minutes.”

“Yay!” Dee squealed, jumping up and bouncing, threatening to drop that tube-top right down to the floor.

“But only because I love you so much, you big goof.”

“Yeee! Thank you so much! I swear I won’t ask you again to come if you really don’t want to. I won’t push you, and I wouldn’t even be asking now if I was brave enough to go on my own. I swear if you had told me this even an hour ago, I wouldn’t have wasted my time finishing that essay for Dr. Jaxon and would have gone with Meggie and the other girls when they left at nine. By now all the other girls are already there and I’d have to get in a scary cab alone.”

“It’s ok, Dee, I understand. I won’t make you go alone.”

“Yay! Thank you! I’ll get an Uber.” I turned away with a sigh and dragged my feet off to my room to change while she clicked away on her phone.

I wasn’t being facetious. I really was sick and tired of the game of pretending each new man I met was this virile, masculine man put on this earth to sweep me away and conquer me. And yes, ok, I’ll admit, they were all gorgeous, but it was an orchestrated gorgeous, just like Dee’s. Going to tanning beds to keep the golden sun-kissed look even in the dead of winter, spending every spare moment in the gym, and waxing and shaving every stitch of body hair they could reach.

As I looked with distaste at my club wardrobe I considered that maybe I was just as bad. While I didn’t go tanning (far from it, my skin was basically translucent), or spend every day in the gym as my thick curves could attest, I did play into the look and act of a sexy co-ed. Wearing belly shirts and tight pants that tempted and teased the parts they clung to, fluffing my long, wavy blonde hair so I could throw its perfumed length back and over my shoulder coquettishly, laughing up beneath my lashes at words I couldn’t even really hear over the dance music even if there was something worth hearing. All of it designed to drive those bros up the wall.

But not tonight, maybe not ever again. I had felt this antsy-ness, this build-up of distaste and discomfort for it all. Tonight the dam broke. I could not stand the thought of putting on one more thing that sparkled under a strobe light. Instead I reached for clothes I usually wore to my classes; soft stretchy jeans in black and a comfortable baby doll tunic that was soft and warm from long-time use in deep burgundy. I threw on a gray cardigan with white-lace cutouts down the front to ward off the late chill that settles down around us in the evening here.

I ignored the row of flashy heels at the front and reached for plain black flats, well-worn and comfortable. Sighing with satisfaction at my appearance, I grabbed my black, strapped carry purse and made my way back to Deeana.

“This…” she looked me up and down, shocked and a little indignant. “This is what you’re wearing?”

“Yes.” I met her eye squarely.

“I mean, you look lovely.”

“That’s right, smart move.” I turned towards the door.

“But,” she began. I sighed and turned back.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you want, maybe, at least lipstick. At least some lipstick, at the very least,” she pleaded, and I almost gave in until she said, “and maybe you could let your hair down and run a brush through it.”

“Look, do you want me to go or not?”

“Never mind, ok, let’s go, the car’s here.” She pulled me by the arm and we were out the door.

The club was packed. That’s what happens when you are “late.” It was nearly eleven and the clubs and bars that served alcohol in San Jose, California closed at 2 am. Luckily Dee was beautiful enough for both of us with her impossibly long legs and pouty lips. The bouncer let us both in despite the club being near capacity.

As usual the music was super loud, eliminating all capability for speech or thought. We made our way to the crowded bar at the back of the dance floor. Dee’s gorgeous face and ass parted the bros at the bar like Moses parted the Red Sea. I started to step in next to her but hesitated. What was the point? Of any of this? Why cram myself in there for a too sweet drink that I’d sip all night long while boy after boy flirted with me, rubbed up against me, or pulled me to the dance floor to cop a feel or two while I dripped in my panties over their hard bodies and crotches? Sure I could take them home, suck them off or lie there while they fucked me, but what was the point of that? I’d only have to rub myself to climax after they left anyway.

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and turned away, leaving her to it.

I texted her my direction so she wouldn’t worry and would know where to find me if she got into trouble, was ready to leave, or found her bro for the olgun escort night. I then escaped out the back to the patio to the much quieter, less packed bar available for people who liked to smoke while they drank. We usually never went out here because it wasn’t really meant for dancing and you couldn’t tell what kind of promise a boy’s package had unless you let him grind on you a little on the dance floor.

“A glass of Rosé, please,” I asked the bartender.

“That will be ten dollars.” I opened my purse and then cursed softly under my breath. I didn’t have cash or cards in this purse, only my ID. All the bros paid for our drinks in the hopes of scoring so out of habit, I didn’t reach for my full wallet.

“Shoot, never mind then.” I said dejectedly, cursing my forgetfulness. If I wasn’t going to play the co-ed bunny, I should have brought something in order to pay for myself.

“It’s ok, drink’s on me.” A man I didn’t know came and stood beside me. He had dark hair kept just a tad longer than a gentleman’s cut, rich hazel eyes under finely arched brows, a gentle face with a soft grin and strong jaw covered in a thick, raspy stubble. He wore a green crew neck tee featuring some band I had never heard of with a black leather jacket and jeans. Just jeans. Blue ones that fit correctly. They weren’t skinny or ripped or anything. He looked… different, probably ten years or so older than me, so in his mid 30s, and very handsome. He also had a kind of aura or charisma that seemed to reach out to me. The only word I could assign to the feeling with my awe-struck brain was just… cool. He was cool, calm, collected with an inherent confidence that didn’t need any self-advertising. Definitely not ‘bro’ like at all, and it instantly turned me on.

“Th-thank you.” I stuttered and felt suddenly flushed and nervous. The unwelcome thought bloomed in my mind that I was inadequately dressed for flirting with my hair in a messy, loose ponytail without a stitch of makeup. All I could think was “Why, why did you refuse the lipstick!?”

“My pleasure.” He smiled then, full and genuine with no hint of subtext. His teeth were straight and even and he had a dimple that popped into existence in his right cheek. I sucked in a breath as if I was drowning in his smile, unable to get enough air.

He stuck out his hand and I took it with slightly shaky fingers. He either didn’t notice or didn’t comment, but squeezed my hand lightly before letting go. His fingers were long and nimble feeling, but strong too, like someone who played a guitar.

“I’m Mathias, but I hate that, so most people just call me Mat.”

“My name is Roxanna, but I go by Roxie, so I get it – names suck.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, and a sexy smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. I felt my insides squirm in response flashing a hint of a dimple. His voice was deep and smooth, a gentle bass that could be heard quite distinctly from the tinny DJ spun dance music streaming out of the open doors behind us.

“I’ll have a Manhattan,” he said to the bartender and I snapped my eyes away, realizing that I had been staring. He was taller than me, a mighty 5’11” to my 5′ 2″ frame, so it was pretty obvious that I was staring with my neck all craned up.

The bartender set our glasses in front of us. I caught my hand trembling as I reached for mine and took a quick sip. There were no seats at the bars in this club, but there were padded benches along the walls and tiny tables for two to four out here. I bit my lip and braved another glance at his handsome face.

“Want to… want to sit together?” I asked. Suddenly I felt like I was back in my first eighth grade dance awkwardly asking my first date if they wanted to go get punch. He smiled down at me again, gentle, no teasing, and simply said, “All right.”

I led him on weak ankles over to the nearest two-top table and sat quickly lest my legs should give out on me. His long legs stretched all the way over to my side and I felt a little thrill when the tip of one shoe touched the insole of my left foot.

“So,” he said, “Where are you from?”

“Here,” I said quickly. Ugh, what was wrong with me? I shook my head. “I mean, I go to San Jose State, but I’m from Northern California, near Redding.” He smiled that smile again and I saw the dimple!

“Ah, I see. What is your major?”

“Anthropology.” He nodded as the silence grew, waiting for me to expand. It was so much easier with the bros. I didn’t have to talk. I just had to look pretty. I shouted in my head to say something else, anything else. “I like it.” I blurted out and just stared at him, my mouth open in shock, my face flaming up in a deep blush which I knew he would be able to see in the dark. I mean, my skin was practically neon. Stupid.

“That’s good. You should like your major, right?” I nodded back. Bless his soul for not saying anything about my blush so that I could regain my composure. We sipped our drinks for a şişli escort moment until I felt like I could speak again.

“And you? I don’t normally see people like you in this kind of club, where did you come from?” Oh. My. God. People like you? Have I even talked to another human being before? Where did you come from?!” At that I buried my face behind the palm of my hand, my elbow propped on the table.

“I’m sorry, don’t answer that,” I squeaked out from the safety of my palm. He laughed again, still gentle, not teasing, but indulgent.

“It’s ok. I understand what you meant to say. It must be obvious that this isn’t my normal haunt. Packed dance club on a Saturday night full of San Jose’s brightest and finest…” he shivered and made a face. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Ah, that’s beautiful.”

“What?” I asked, looking around to see what he was talking about.

“Your smile. You are beautiful, Roxie.” I gaped at him. I’ve been told I was beautiful before by a hundred boys inside clubs like this or on campus, wolf-whistling as I walked by, but those words never quite hit like his did just then. They were without embellishment. A straight-forward statement like he was commenting on some mundane fact, like, there’s a plant over there, or trees have leaves. Something happened to me then, a kind of quieting inside yet at the same time every bit of me came to life.

“Thank you,” I breathed back, barely a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he said in that same straight-forward way. Nothing to hide, nothing to gain, nothing to lose. No games, no tricks. Just words.

“To answer your question, I’m in town for my younger brother’s bachelor party. This is the end of it actually. We spent the night doing a bar crawl all through these streets. This is the last place we ended up, and as it is filled with ladies that look like you the group decided to stay. They are all in there,” he gestured with a tip of his head, “and I am out here.”

“Not one for dancing?” I asked. He caught my eye, snaring me at first in their depths only to let his gaze travel down my face, over the shape of my lips, down my throat with its little pulsing beat, over and around my full chest, then back up, just as smooth and slowly. I traced their path until he met my eyes again and my nipples tightened painfully in my black demi-bra.

“No, not this kind of dancing anyway.” I don’t know if it was my overly sensitive skin, but the word “dancing” took on a whole new meaning when he said it. The flesh on my arms raised in goosebumps. I decided then and there that I wanted the kind of dancing his word implied, with him, right now. I just had to be brave enough to take it. This was all new to me, being the aggressor, being the one to take the chance, the calculated risk. I met his deep brown eyes again with my own, let them rove over his gorgeous face. I knew this was no ‘bro.’ He would be different, was already different. Primal lust surged through me, spiking my core and clenching my pussy. I felt the answering wetness in my panties.

“So then,” I sucked in a breath, bit my lip, squirmed in my seat, “why don’t we find somewhere else to dance?” I got him with that one. His beautiful hazel eyes widened and a slow, sexy smile spread across his face.

The Uber ride home was brief but full of adrenaline-fueled anticipation. I could barely sit still as I texted Dee to let her know where I was going. She texted back congratulating me with an eggplant emoji and an open smiley face, then told me she was off to the same with one of her regular boy toys at their place, texting me the address. She sent me one last text reminding me to send her the “all clear” text when we were done for the night or after an hour of being alone with our chosen partners. It was the code we had between us to make sure we were playing safe. If we didn’t get that code, we would send the police to the last known location of our cell phones. For some reason I had a feeling I could send her the all-clear code now. There was something about Mat that I instantly trusted. Maybe it was his calm, cool, and collected demeanor, or maybe it was the fact that I was inexplicably insatiable for him to the point that he could tell.

Mat, though, seemed calm and confident throughout the ride. He sat still and silent beside me at first, making no outward sign that my nearness was affecting him as much as his nearness affected me. Other than the allure of his gorgeous face and lithe body, he smelled so good too, just so delicious that my mouth was watering. It was a combination of some subtle, spiced cologne or aftershave, the leather of his jacket warmed by his body heat, and something else, male and uniquely him.

The only indication that he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed was the fact that he pretty much kept his eyes on me the whole ride, seemingly unable to look away. Every time I braved a glance at his face, he was studying me intently: my eyes, my lips, the creamy flesh of my exposed cleavage. Within five minutes of the fifteen-minute car ride, I felt hyper aware of his every glance and move. The leg he had pressed up against mine in the back of the Uber wasn’t trembling or quaking one bit, but every time I felt his thigh flex against mine, I was sure he could feel mine tremble against his. The same could be said about the arm he had thrown along the back of the seat; his leather clad bicep pressed against my shoulders was calm and steady, not a tremble in sight.

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