Speaking of those college men, I bite my lip when all three of them come in at once, grabbing a seat on a table that's not so far from my spot. They take notebooks out of their bags, ready to work.
Instantly, my senses rev to high alert, and I chew on the lid of my pen as my attention to my essay dwindles, and the focus on them increases.
One is Peter Lawson. He's big, bulky and blond, exactly the kind of guy you see playing football. He always has a confident smile to his face, and not the kind that makes you want to bitch slap them into next week. Then there's Dennis Caltruck, who for all intents and purposes, is the complete opposite of Peter. He has light brown hair, dark eyes, and is slender and willowy in comparison to Peter's muscle bound form. He's wearing a Pacman shirt right now, but is laughing and joking with Peter as if there's no obvious difference between them at all. Last is George Holman. Penetrating blue eyes, black hair – he looks stunning, but he's harder to read than the others. He prefers neat clothes like pinstripe shirts and pants. He's quieter than the others in this scenario, but when he talks, they instantly listen.
All of them are inexplicably friends with one another. And all of them are handsome. Small wonder I find myself getting easily distracted by them, and allowing my imagination to run amok.
I don't have the type of dreams where I imagine each of them in different scenarios, taking them to bed one by one. I imagine them all taking me at the same time. Pretty slutty, right?
Admittedly, I'm not sure where it came from, if it can even come from anything at all – this desire to endure sex like that. For a start, I suppose, I like gangbang porn. Not the kind where they just lie there and take it, but the kind where everyone's an active participant, some giving orders, sometimes even kissing each other when they're not focusing on the female. There's not so many of those types of porn where somehow four people can seem romantic, so I tend to make them up in my head.
I'm fairly certain if I even slipped a word to these three, my life would be over. If they knew what went in my mind, that I craved them to the point where I firmly place them in the constructs of my ongoing fantasies, they would flip.
George looks over for a moment, and catches me staring. I hastily avert my eyes and try to act like I'm concentrating on my work. After a moment, he focuses back on his friends, and I exhale a sigh of relief.
I'm not doing any favors for myself like this. Either I'm going to get my essay written during the rest of my study period, or I'm going to drool incessantly over the three men I've commandeered for my best sexual fantasies.
I get up, and clang up the spiral staircase in the university library, to find a corner to hide myself in so I can get my essay done.
It's not easy, because my mind keeps drifting back to the men, sometimes leaving me half frozen in the middle of a sentence. My teacher insists on doing the essay by hand, and I find it bothersome, because everything's submitted electronically these days. Not so much with my science teacher, who likes good old fashioned pen and paper.
It's annoying to have the fantasies because I do want to maintain the image of a good girl. To have everyone think I have integrity, rather than being like one of your college sluts who gets drunk at parties and then sleeps with everyone in the room. My parents still think I'm some innocent cherub who doesn't know what sex is, even at the age of eighteen. They never mentioned it to me more than past the obligaTori sex talk, and they take my not dating as a good sign that I'm concentrating on my studies, rather than popping out babies, like they believe my best friend is going to do.
It's possible, honestly. Tori Reed is kind of a slut, though I would never say it to her face.
When I make it back home later, my mom greets me as I walk through the door.
“Hey, Anna. How was your day at college?”
“Fine,” I say. “I got a lot of studying done, but they've loaded me up. I need to get more finished tonight if I want to keep on top of things.”
“Excellent, excellent. Well, I've got you some good brain food for dinner, should help you keep up your spirits!”
“Thanks, mom,” I say, smiling at my mother. She's tied her blond hair into a severe ponytail, and her blue eyes regard me as if I'm the best model daughter she could ever ask for. She likes to refer to our family unit as the Dunstan dream. My dad's at work, but he would also act equally proud.
It's a shame I'm nothing like what they think on the inside. I may not have had sex, but I'm curious about it, and I've certainly watched enough porn and read enough stories to desensitize myself to it.
Later on, when I've eaten, studied and resisted the urge to start stroking myself, although my spare hand often rested on the top of my crotch, I finally give into the desires and take a good half hour out of my studies to picture the three men in my head. I've locked my bedroom door, and I hide under the bedcovers, following wherever my imagination takes me.
I imagine Peter overpowering me, pinning me against the wall with those huge muscles of his. I imagine being thrown onto the bed and then being stripped naked, taking in George's erection in my mouth, as Dennis licks me from between my legs, and Peter caresses my breasts. I switch them around, moving my body as well to simulate being thrust into. I imagine Peter whispering dirty words into my ear, then George inside me, then Dennis. I watch Peter and George kiss, and I'm only partway through visualizing that scene when I climax, heart beating fast, groaning quietly as the wonderful feeling ripples through me.
Shame hits me as well, once I've recovered past my amorous fog of war and my urges are satisfied. I can't help these desires, but they made it so damn hard for me to think when I want to study.
At least, though, they'll stay a fantasy. None of the men need ever find out what I really think of them.
Though I've entertained the daydream of them finding out as well, of course.
I find it better in the long run to arrest my daydreams as soon as I can and release myself, so I become less inclined to do stupid things, like stalk them, or try and snip off a lock of their hair to smell or something.
So far, it's working.
I'm just not so sure how much longer it will work for.
Chapter Two
Over the week for me, it's the same kind of routine. Attempt to pay attention in lectures. Get annoyed if the teacher is talking too fast or if they sound half asleep. Sometimes masturbate to certain salacious thoughts that make their way into my head. That sort of thing. I don't dare tell anyone about my thoughts, because I don't want them to think less of me. However, it gets to the point at times where I'm not sure how much longer I can keep the dreams to myself before I start acting out on them, and completely humiliating myself in college.
I keep assuming that Peter will be the dominant one out of the three of them, and Dennis the shyest, though it's entirely possible I might be wrong. In the best case scenario that they're all chill with sexing it out with one another, it could be that Dennis is a demon in the sack. Could be.
Anyway, I finish up my lesson, leaving me with two hours of free study and eating. I grab a burger from the canteen, craving hard, greasy shit, and I seem to offend the thin women who are grabbing their rabbit food, and there's a few fatties who are loading their trays up with grease. I'm not exactly a dream shape myself, but I'm thin enough to be comfortable, and there's no rib poking out of my skin, so that's something.
Finishing my burger, I head off down the corridor to the music block, intending to head through the back entrance to experience the sunny day, maybe sit on a grassy knoll and catch up on the books I've been assigned to read. With the smell of freshly mown grass around me, I look forward to it. I casually glance into each door window as I pass, before grinding to a halt by Music Room 17B, when I see two very familiar figures seated in there. Dennis Caltruck and George Holman.
George has a violin out, and he seems to be showing Dennis how it works. Dennis is tucked in a Doctor Who hoodie this time, and nods enthusiastically.
I know at this point I'm bein
g super nosy and potentially stalker like, but I creep closer to the glass to peer at them, liking how relaxed they are. My heart's pulsing a little faster from nervousness, from the idea of being accidentally discovered. All it takes is for one of them to glance in this direction, and I highly doubt I'll be able to dodge out of the way fast enough.
Just as I'm willing myself to tear away and keep walking, a hand pats my shoulder. I bite back a squeal and leap to the side to register Peter Lawson standing there, larger than life, one blond eyebrow raised as he regards me with his light brown eyes.
“Yo,” he says. “You were totally peeking at my friends, weren't you?”
I flush bright red, and stammer, “I, uh, I'm just leaving. Bye.”
“No. Wait. Stop. I've seen you around before. Anna, right? You're in the library sometimes when we're all there. George notices you as well.” Peter then smiles when he catches my alarmed expression. “Kind of a coincidence, isn't it? That you happen to be around when we are.”
“I'm not a stalker,” I finally respond. “I just happen to have free periods at the same time as you guys, and I try to catch up on my studies.” I'm proud to note that I don't stutter when I declare all this.
“Uh huh,” Peter says, not buying it. “Well. You can come in if you want. We're just talking. That way, you don't have to stare at us from a distance.”
“I'm not staring,” I say feebly, even as Peter smiles cheerfully at me, then shoves me in through the door, where George and Dennis turn their heads to survey Peter and the newcomer.
Well, shit. Now I'm the center of attention for the first time. All of them examine me speculatively.
“Ah,” George says. “You found her at last.” His voice is cool and soft, and has a way of arresting your attention from the first syllable. He still manages to project it somehow, and I can immediately see how Dennis and Peter listen to him when he speaks. His dark blue eyes grow a little darker. “I've been noticing you around for a while. I was wondering if you would ever pluck up the courage to speak to us.”
Although I'm flaming beet red, I muster up a smile, forcing my muscles into an uplifted position. “Well, I probably wouldn't have ever gotten the courage unless Peter didn't just throw me in here.”
“Oh.” George now examines his muscular friend. “You stole her?”
“She was peeking on you guys outside the room,” Peter replies. “Figured we might as well make it more official.”
In the tone of their conversation, I gather that all of them had perfectly noticed me gawking at them, and none of them are bothered in the slightest. It makes me less nervous and foolish to be standing here.
“Try us out,” George says. “Maybe you'll like us.”
Dennis nods, his dark eyes staring at me in open interest. I smile at him, and he flushes a little as well.
Interesting, I think. He definitely finds me attractive. Which is good, because he's a good looker himself. I'm boosted inside.
Maybe a part of my fantasies will come true. Or maybe none of them are actually single. Which would be disappointing. Though I know they've rejected their share of women in college.
Our discussion quickly drops into politics, as it's evident that Dennis and George were arguing about the whole right wing shift of ideals in the world today.
“It's human nature,” George says. “Humans have a tribal mentality. We learn to associate with what we know and reject what we don't. It's how basic preservation has favored us all these years.”
“It's stupid, though,” Dennis argues. “The only way the human race can survive is if we become global. Ditch borders and flag waving and identify ourselves as the same race.”
“That's dumb,” Peter says. “People won't want to get rid of that stuff. We like having flags and identifying as individual people and shit.”
“It's more complex than that, Peter, but that is essentially it,” George agrees. I decide to try and throw in my two cents, attempting to sound smart.
“Globalism would require a massive cultural shift that we're fundamentally unprepared for. Erasing lines when we're so used to drawing them will be impossible. The only way globalism I think can be achieved is if dominant nations basically take over the others. Then it's just the same identity over a wider area.”
“Plus, a big shift like that requires a lot of hand holding from the government. They usually don't like to let go afterwards. Think communism in Russia with Lenin and Mao Zedong. Not fun stuff.” George nods at me, impressed, before he demonstrates his violin to me, and I listen for a moment, enjoying the mournful sound it produces, the way it seems to sing his soul.
I find myself liking their diversity, since all of them have something to say. I also notice their casual examinations of me from head to toe, and it fills me with tiny sliver of arousal, which I try to contain with a blank, serviceable smile.
“It's beautiful music,” I compliment George. “It has real feeling in it.”
“Interesting you should mention that,” George replies, a sardonic smile upon his face. “Did you know I've been classified as a psychopath?”
Both my eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” No. Psychopaths aren't meant to have feelings, right?
Dennis and Peter both nod to confirm his words. “He is.”
“I am. But contrary to what you might think – I'm not a serial killer. I just see the world a lot differently. People differently, too. Not being able to care like a neuropath has its advantages. And I do appreciate mediums like music and art. It transcends ideals in the human psyche. And I do take care of my friends.”
I find it hard to register what he's saying, because I have no idea what it's like to not feel emotions the same way. If I'm honest, I tend to assume a lot that everyone has the same feelings I do.
“So... you don't get... urges?”
George and the others laugh. “No,” he says. “It's not logical. Better to have mutually beneficial friendships. I wouldn't be friends with these people if they didn't offer something in return. It's just how it is. I will not waste my time with people who do not want to waste their time with me.”
“He's a good friend,” Dennis supplies, his voice higher pitched than the others. “And you always know where you stand with George. If he does manipulate us, it's usually for our own benefit as well as his.”
“Yes. Life is easier when the people around me are happy,” George says. “It doesn't benefit me to upset the people who help me.”
It's a cold logic, but it makes sense, and I find myself nodding along. I've never associated with anyone who has declared themselves a psychopath before, who also seems to be accepted by his friends. He plays music as well, which is odd to me.
“Still, though,” George says, now giving me a sly smile. “I can't help but notice the way you hold your breath when you observe us. Excited to see us?”
I don't say anything, suddenly terrified my inner thoughts are showing on my face. Dennis and Peter exchanges glances, and there's palpable tension in the room now, as if something fundamental has changed in our current interactions.
Somehow, I get the impression that all three of them are interested in me. And I'm wondering how that's even possible. They're friends, sure. But I highly doubt friends would want to risk their friendships on one person.
I must be mistaken, then.
“Do you play games?” Dennis asks then, leaning forwards to observe my reaction.
I shrug. “I've dabbled in them. I just don't give myself time to play them.”
“Well,” he says, glancing at the others who nod their approval, “we have a gaming session after college today at Peter's house. You'd be welcome to come and join us.”
“Yeah! Of course! We can teach you and then you'll totally suck but it'll be awesome,” Peter says, causing me to glare at him and roll my eyes.
“I bet I'll beat the shit out of you.”
“We can get out the Wii,” George says. “There's some social friendly games there. You have enough remotes?�
�
“Yes, I have like nine.”
“Wow.” I raise my eyebrow. “Okay. Sure. I'd have to tell my mom, though.”
“Hmm.” George continues smiling in that strange way he has, which makes me shudder involuntarily. “I hope she wouldn't mind you coming over to where three men are playing...?”
“Only if I don't tell her,” I say, then flush a little at the implication of my words. “I'll just say I'm going to Tori's house and get Tori to collaborate. I think she'll be more comfortable with that then to hear me announce I'm going to yours within one hour of talking.”
“Hmm.” George winks. “Better get to it. I think we'll look forward to playing with you tonight...”
Oh, yeah. Not suggestive at all, George.
“We can play the party game with that board game map and all the mini games. That'll be fantastic!” Dennis gushes.
“Calm down,” George says, “before you unleash all your inner geek at once.”
We laugh, and then gradually make our ways to our classrooms, after exchanging numbers.
It takes me a while to text my mother, however. I know for a fact that if I text her the lie, there's no going back. I've officially moored myself in the terriTori of no return. I'm one step closer to the dark spot in my dreams, even though I'm sure nothing more will come of it.
That's a lie. I'm lying to myself.
I'm not sure what will happen, but I know what I want to happen.
And I know the suggestive glances George has been giving me, the keen interest in Dennis's soft brown eyes, and the open admiration of Peter as he inspects my physique.
Of course I'm hoping for something more.
I just don't think it will happen in a million years with all three of them. Maybe just one.
Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel Page 113
