“What?” Diana asks, shaking her head slightly. “You don’t think it would be hot if Dr. Calvert asked you to stay after class for a little private lesson? And then did a psychological study on you where he needed to tie you up and make you submit to him?”
“Uhhhh.”
I don’t even know what sound escapes my lips. Diana’s comments definitely shock me. And she must have gotten the rise out of me that she was wanting, because she laughs heartily.
Screw her, I think, suddenly becoming angry. This is another reason why I don’t even try to make friends with people. I never know if they’re genuinely interested in me, or trying to mess with me.
I have the social awareness of an elementary schooler because everyone has always just looked at me and thought, “There’s that girl with the weird mom; she must be weird too,” and it’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Since I grew up here— and Mom would never in a million years dream of letting me leave— most people have known all the gossip about me for a long time, and passed it on to any newcomers like Diana, who moved here for college.
It’s a reputation that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get away from. And sadly enough, it’s right on point.
“I was just kidding.” Diana playfully elbows me, but I take a step away from her.
“Actually, no.”
I decide to be as bold as everyone else seems to be, for once. What do I have to lose? Certainly not my dignity, because I didn’t have that to begin with. I might as well shock Diana and let her know what a whore I am— in my mind at least. Since I’ll never be able to explore my sexual fantasies in real life, thanks to my mom.
But will she be able to handle all the things I’ve been thinking about another guy— not our professor— doing to me? Or will my thoughts be too sinful even for her to bear? I guess it’s time to find out.
Chapter 3 – Elizabeth Jane
“I might like it if some guy did that to me,” I tell Diana. “And more. I would like him to whip me. To squeeze my ass and call me his whore. To use me for his own pleasure while also knowing that he is giving me pleasure.”
“Wow,” Diana says, her eyes wide with surprised glee. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! I didn’t know you had it in you, Elizabeth Jane. Or maybe I did, and that’s why I was trying to draw it out. I was sitting there in class thinking I couldn’t be the only one hot for the teacher while he was talking about animal sex like that.”
“No,” I tell her quickly, adamantly opposed to her incorrect assumption that it’s Dr. Calvert I’m talking about. “I want someone to do all of that to me and more. But not Dr. Calvert. He’s just not my type.”
Diana’s mouth drops open and she looks at me as if I just told her I don’t like candy or wine. But then she smiles, obviously approving of my feisty reaction.
“Okay then,” she shrugs. “Why not? What do you have against the handsome and erudite Dr. Calvert?”
“First of all, I don’t think he’s that handsome. I can see how some girls go for the blonde beach-kissed surfer look but that type’s a dime a dozen out here. I don’t like his aloof attitude, as if he knows he’s hot or even thinks he’s hotter than he is. My tastes are for something a little subtler and refined. I prefer the dark and mysterious type, with a gentle confidence and a manner that exudes quiet strength rather than boastful pretty-boy showmanship.”
“Elizabeth Jane Suttell,” she says, and then whistles in approval. “I didn’t know you had it in you. I’ve heard about what a goody two shoes you are but maybe you’re just a girl who knows what you like and won’t settle for anything else. I knew there was a reason we should be friends.”
She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back.
We should be friends? We’re friends? I have a friend?
I don’t know where I found it in me to go on my little tirade against Dr. Calvert, but I guess it shows that I feel comfortable enough around Diana to express it. I wanted to know if she was making fun of me or genuinely interested in my opinion, and if it was the former then I wanted to show her that two can play that game. I can make fun of her— and her precious Dr. Calvert— right back.
I guess my bold move pays off, because she leans into me as if she’s going to tell me a big secret. But just then, I see my mom’s car pulling into the parking lot and I know it’s time to wrap it up. I can’t believe I even continued the conversation, knowing that my mom was on her way here.
“So,” Diana asks, her voice in a hushed whisper even though no one else is around to overhear. “If you’d like someone to do that to you, but for some crazy reason I still don’t understand, that someone is not Dr. Calvert, then just who is it that you are wanting to tie you up and treat you like his dirty, filthy whore?”
My face burns in a stunning blush again, but this time it’s more out of desire than embarrassment. Because I know exactly who I’d like to do that to me, even though I can never have him.
It’s unutterable. Impossible. Most definitely out of reach as well as out of the bounds of reality. But I guess that’s why it’s called a fantasy.
And I guess that’s why, when Dr. Calvert was talking about an older male animal taking a younger female in the wild— dominating her and doing what he wanted to do with her until his most primal urges were completely satisfied— I couldn’t stop thinking about who I really want to do that to me.
But I can’t tell Diana. Or anyone.
Especially not right now.
“Gotta go,” I tell her, heading over to my mom’s car as she slows it down near the sidewalk. “See you in class.”
I can see my mom craning her neck, trying to make out who I’m talking to and why, and undoubtedly trying to guess what our conversation might be about as well. I already anticipate her asking me a million nosy questions about it. The last thing I need is for her to overhear any of this conversation or I’ll be grounded in my room with only a Bible and prayer beads until I’m thirty.
“Oh, Elizabeth Jane, don’t leave me hanging!” Diana calls out, as I hurriedly walk over to my mom. “Tell me who you want to tie you up!”
“Hi Mom,” I say, jumping into the passenger seat and closing the door as if I’ve just escaped a fire, hoping that Diana doesn’t say another word.
She doesn’t. It’s pretty clear she’s heard the rumors about me and my crazy mom. Luckily, she just waves at me coyly and winks, as if reminding me of her question.
As if I could forget.
Who do I want to tie me up and make me submit to his every whim?
I’ll never tell a soul. It’s only for me to think about— torture myself about— until I’m old enough and financially independent enough to get away from my mother and be with a real guy in the real world.
Because there’s no way I could be with the man of my fantasies. That would just be too good to be true. So, I’ll keep it a secret that burns me up inside— and makes me drip with desire every time I think about it— for the rest of my life.
Chapter 4 – Elizabeth Jane
“You were talking to that slutty looking girl again?” My mom asks, as soon as I’m in the car. “About what? This is not the first time I’ve seen her chatting you up. Why does she always want to talk to you? Is she trying to corrupt you?”
My mom’s questions always make her seem like a fly I can’t manage to swat away for good, no matter how many times I try. She inevitably comes buzzing back to pester me some more.
I think about telling her the truth. I’d love to see the look on her face. But then she’d drive me straight to church, and I just want to get home to my room— the one place she doesn’t bug me with questions. She thinks I’m studying but I’m usually writing in my “diary” and then tearing it all to shreds.
So, I just tell her, “Nothing, Mom. Can we please go now?”
“Should I go talk to her and tell her you’re a sweet, innocent girl who doesn’t appreciate someone wearing that outfit trying to influence your decisions in this evil world?�
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Mom scowls as she looks up and down at Diana’s short black skirt and tight neon pink tank top that shows off her busty cleavage. It’s a bold fashion choice—80’s-esque— but no more “revealing and immodest,” as my mother would call it—than anything anyone else wears around here in the summer. I’m sure Diana was just trying to catch Dr. Calvert’s attention by dressing that way.
“Mom, please,” I tell her. “We were only talking about the professor’s lecture, that’s all. Let’s just go.”
“So, this is a psychology class?” Mom asks, for the millionth time.
“Yes,” I confirm, which is only half true.
I’m not going to tell her it’s evolutionary psychology. From sixth grade—when middle school started, through twelfth grade— when senior high ended, she pulled me out of any science course that taught evolution, so this course is as close as I’ve come to learning anything about the theory. If she knew that not only was I learning about any kind of evolution but also that the kind I was learning about involved sex, she would probably pull me out of college completely.
“I need to look into whatever crazy new age theories they might be teaching you,” she replies. “But not tonight. Right now, I need to stop at the store to pick up bananas, socks and my medicine.”
I roll my eyes. I know how necessary it is for her to go to the store— I’d hate to see her off her crazy meds, let alone ranting about her feet being cold if she doesn’t get her random need for new socks fulfilled— but I really don’t want to go.
“Mom, I have to study,” I groan.
It’s true, even though I’ve done most of it during my breaks in between classes. Since Mom drops me off at campus and picks me back up, I have to take the bus if I want to go anywhere in between classes. So, it’s usually easier to just sit in the food court or walk across the street to Campus Coffee— the knock off Starbucks that caters to college students like me who are too poor to afford the real thing— and study there.
“Fine, I’ll drop you off and be right back,” she says, as if I’ll be pining away for her in her absence.
Of course, quite the opposite is true. A chill runs down my spine at the opportunity to be home alone without my mother’s constant presence and incessant questions. Since I’m burning up with desire after my confession to Diana about what I’d like to be done to me, I can’t wait to entertain my fantasies in private. And I can only do that when my mom’s not home.
So, I do it every chance I get, which isn’t often, since my super religious and overly strict mom is almost always there keeping a watchful eye over me. I’ve been so horny that it’s driving me crazy.
Since I can’t actually have sex, or my mom will kill me, or at the very least she would cut me off financially when I can’t afford college tuition, let alone my own place without her, I have no choice but to do what she says. Therefore, I remain a 19-year-old virgin. But only physically. In my mind, in private, I escape to very dirty places.
No one would understand what it’s like to want to have sex and not be able to. People assume I’m so chaste— even Diana confirmed that just now with her “holier than thou” assessment of me— but the truth is, if they knew my thoughts, they’d think I was depraved and deranged. I only let Diana in on the half of it when I decided to spill some of my private fantasies to her. And if she knew who I wanted to carry them out, she would think I was too dirty even for her tastes.
That’s why in addition to having sex, I never even talk about it. Except right now, with Diana, which surprised me, but I’m mostly glad I did. It’s nice to know someone else can relate. But it sure has revved me up for some private time to explore my deepest, darkest fantasies. I have a feeling that it’s going to be so good I’m going to forget I’m all alone, rather than with the guy I really wish was fulfilling them.
Chapter 5 – Elizabeth Jane
When we get home, Mom drops me off and says, “Good luck with your studies, Dear.”
I nod obediently and do my best not to skip into the house. I feel like doing a happy dance, but I refrain.
I’m so glad to have some alone time. Still thinking of the lecture earlier and my conversation with Diana afterwards, I get out my journal and write, “I want to be devoured by an alpha male predator.”
If my mom was home, I would write more about the fantasy that sentence might inspire. But since she’s not, I can take full advantage of thinking about what I would like to happen.
Later, I’ll tear up this page and throw away the tiny pieces of what cannot be. Right now, though, I’m going to pretend that it can be. I lay back on my bed with my legs spread open, touching my clit and wishing that it was someone else touching me.
One time I was able to go to a co-ed slumber party. Sadly, it’s about the only fun thing I’ve gotten to do in my life. My mom had to go out of town for training for work, so she took me to my aunt’s house, who lives about an hour away.
My cousin was having the sleepover and she told me not to not to tell my strict mom about the party and I listened, although I was terrified she’d find out. During the sleepover, everyone played Truth or Dare, and I let a guy finger me. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten sexually, and I still can’t believe I did it. I just threw caution to the wind and decided to go for it because it might be the only chance that I would ever get to explore like that— or let someone else explore me like that— and so far, I’ve been right.
This guy was nothing to look at— my cousin is only slightly less socially awkward than I am, and the few friends she has are pretty nerdy— but it was still exciting and felt good. And now I like to do it to myself, because it feels amazing.
I started out way back when by imitating what the guy at the sleepover had done to me. But since then I’ve become a lot better at it than he was. I push in and out of myself with the finger of one hand while rubbing my clit with my other hand. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to having sex and it feels like a drug. Sometimes once I get started I can’t stop, and I do it over and over, feeling my own soppy juices and turning into a quivering mess on my bed.
The guy who fingered me was scrawny and pimpled and definitely not good looking, so I never think about him, except for how forbidden it felt to have his finger down there in my most private area. For some reason—perhaps because he was my age, and so bad at fingering me— I always fantasize about being with older men. I like to think about the more experienced, sexy men who would be able to take me to a whole new level compared to the few minutes of what my friends back in high school called “finger banging.”
So, while I pinch and rub my clit and finger myself slowly and then more rapidly, I think about being with someone sexier and better than the guy who did it before. Sometimes I think about the older guy who owns the donut store around the block. Then there are a couple of neighborhood guys on my block who are fathers of kids— now adults— around my own age, but these fathers are always jogging and they’re in really good shape.
I guess I just must have a thing for older men because all the men I fantasize about happen to be a lot older than I am. But it’s always just a fantasy. It doesn’t mean I’d actually let them take my virginity. At least, that’s what I tell myself— maybe because I don’t think there’s any chance of it really happening.
One guy I always think about while I touch myself, no matter what, is my family doctor, Dr. Monroe. That’s my dirty little secret I didn’t want to let Diana know about.
Like the neighborhood guys who jog around my block, Dr. Monroe is old enough to be my father, except that he’s even more good looking than they are. He has dark hair with some gray mixed in— salt and pepper style— and thick rimmed glasses. But that just makes him look wise and sexy. He’s in very good shape and I can just tell when I look at him in his Oxford shirt and white lab coat that he has chiseled abs.
I hate to admit even to myself that I fantasize about Dr. Monroe because I’ve been a patient of his practice for years and I’ve known him since I
was a little girl. It’s just plain filthy that I think about him in that way. But I can’t help my thoughts. And I know he can’t really take my virginity even though I would totally let him. He’s so sexy, with a full head of hair and a mischievous grin.
After today’s psychology lecture and my talk with Diana, I can’t help but think about Dr. Monroe while I’m touching myself. To be more precise, I’m wondering what would happen if Dr. Monroe decided to go a little further with me than normal during a doctor’s exam.
This is my dirty secret— the one person I wish would do everything Diana talked about and more, to me. It’s so naughty it’s unspeakable. But that doesn’t mean I can’t think about it and wish it could actually happen. Which I often do, and am doing right now.
I imagine Dr. Monroe opening my legs and spreading them even wider than they are now. He’ll tell me he needs to examine me with his big cock. And then he’ll put it inside me, just like my own finger is right now, each time coming out wetter and wetter with my juice.
I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel if he were really to take my virginity. I’m sure he has a long, thick cock that would hurt going in but feel so good doing to me what my own hands cannot. Maybe after he was finished with me he would spill his cum all over me to mark me as his own….
I’m just on the verge of climaxing when I hear the angry sound of throat- clearing. What the hell? Had I been so caught up in fantasizing about Dr. Monroe that I didn’t even hear anyone come into the house?
Sure enough, my mother walks right into my room, destroying my sex life—or what little of it I have— my dignity, and no doubt my entire life, yet again.
Chapter 6 – Elizabeth Jane
Tackled by the Team Page 57
