CHAPTER 8

You know what's weird? When you go from being a senior in high school—totally chill, biggest fish in the pond, wise and sophisticated—to being a freshman in college—totally lost, insecure, minnow in a big, strange ocean. People treat you like you're twelve years old, and you kind of feel that way. That's sure how I felt, anyway.

Add in that I was an 18-year-old virgin, maybe a lesbian, and a cum slut who got off sucking anonymous dicks in a glory hole, and weird was too feeble a word to describe it.

I didn't feel like I could tell anybody who I really was. I wasn't sure I even knew. I just knew that I liked girls in a not-quite-normal way, that I needed a dick in my mouth to climax while touching myself, that I was a full-on cock worshiping cum slut, and that I thought guys were mostly dorks. Weird squared, right?

Luckily, I got into a school that my parents could almost afford, and that was liberal as all shit. So when we signed up for dorms (first year students had to live in a dorm) we had three choices: Male, Female, and Gender-Neutral / Transgender. I read the description of G-N/T, and it sounded more like Totally Confused to me.

But hey, that was me all over. So I signed up for the G/N-T dorm, ordered the LGBLT lunch special from the GHENT Cafe, and checked the No Preference box for desired room mate gender. I knew I liked girls, and I knew I liked dicks, so either way, right? Besides, I figured if a guy thought of himself as at least part girl he probably wasn't a dork.

I was only half right. All college-age males are dorks, but transgender guys are only part male, hence only part dork.

Anyway it turned out that most of the students in my dorm were actually either gender normal or gender just-slightly-confused; they just thought it was cool and PC to declare as G-N/T. Go figure. There didn't seem to be anybody like me.

But in a way I lucked out: my roommate Lonni was a keeper. I liked her right away. She was more pretty than beautiful, with pert, bouncy tits, nice skin, and a great sense of humor. Plus she had that self assurance I was drawn to in girls. She was a funny mixture—part very girly-girl feminine: legs shaved (everything shaved, as far as I could tell), makeup, lacy blouses and heels; but part tomboy: blunt speaking, funny in a crude way sometimes, and physically assertive.

Lonni could tell I liked her, and she took me under her wing as a project—sort of an ugly duckling that she was confident she could make into a swan. I was part of her entourage. Actually I was her whole entourage, but she acted as if the rest of her following had just stepped out. She gave me the benefit of her advice, which were more-or-less marching orders for me, and she had me do little things for her: paint her fingernails, French-braid her hair… a lot like Linda Sue, now that I think of it, but nicer. I didn't ask about her sexual orientation because I wasn't sure of my own. I wouldn't know how to answer my own question.

In fact, my sex life had become hypothetical. I was focusing on my classes, ignoring the yearning between my legs as much as possible. There was no sense masturbating without a cock to suck, at least for me, and I was too busy adapting to my new life to go out cock-hunting, so I just did without. But the pressure was building.

I was shy, and I pretty much kept my past to myself, even from my roommate Lonni.

But then one Friday night Lonni smuggled a bottle of vanilla vodka into our dorm room and the two of us got demurely, girlishly, falling-over wasted. She opened up and told me about her abusive father and her embarrassing crush on her scout troop leader, who turned out to be a friend of her mother's. She cried and I cried for her. We all felt cozy and kind of held hands, and I got a little tingly, and it got kind of awkward, and she flat out asked me about my sexual orientation.

I didn't know what to say, so I spilled everything. Everything. Told her my whole story.

She seemed interested and sympathetic about my submissive lesbian sex-slave phase with Linda-Sue, outraged about the way Linda Sue had used me as a cum receptacle for her boyfriend, stunned–but I think a little impressed—with my brief reign as queen Cindy of the downtown glory hole, and fascinated by my need for a cock in my mouth to successfully reach a climax while playing with myself.

"But what about fucking?" she asked with alcohol-enhanced bluntness. "Can you cum with a cock in your pussy, or with a girl eating you out?"

"I don't really know, Lonni. I'm… I'm still a virgin. I've never had a cock in my pussy, only in my mouth, and the eating was strictly in one direction with Linda Sue."

"That bitch! What a waste." She put her hand on my knee. "I would have eaten you in a heartbeat, Cindy, if you had had a crush on me."

"You would have? Really?"

"Cross my heart. I wouldn't leave you swinging in the breeze if you were sweet on me and I let you hang around and do things for me."

I crossed my legs, squirming a little. "Lonni? I do… sort of have a… a crush on you."

"Well of course you do. Who wouldn't?" she offered breezily.

"And you let me do things for you. Not sex things, but…"

Lonni sobered a bit. "I do let you do things for me, don't I? And you would do… sex things, for me, if I asked, wouldn't you, little Cindy?"

"I'd, I'd like to, Lonni. If you wanted."

"First things first, child. You haven't cum in how long?"

"Since a month before school started."

Lonni moved her tongue around in her mouth, trying to work out the vodka numbness. "Stand up," she said.

I stood.

"Take your pants off."

I complied. This felt familiar. I liked it.

"Panties, too. And your top."