Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Magic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Horror, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Slow, School,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young college graduate is going through a rough time. Problems with romance, problems with his parents, and problems with his career all seem to be drowning him. However, a wish gone awry produces some very Unforeseen Consequences which lead the man to seek out his destiny.
"Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it."
Truer words have never been spoken.
My life, as much as it could have been called that, was your run-of-the-mill, ordinary set of blahs, garnished with enough boredom to choke an elephant. I had few friends apart from my sister and her husband whom I both loved dearly, had been cast away in an emotional rollercoaster of a relationship because my girlfriend didn't want to put in the effort of smoothing things over between herself and my parents, and was struggling with my personal finances, trying to figure out how I was going to pay for my college education. The only relief I got from the doldrums of my otherwise pitiful existence was the escape provided by reading fantasy novels and watching science fiction movies.
It was so easy to lose myself in Casper Van Diem's role of Johnny Rico in Starship Troopers, to imagine being able to fly, impervious to bullets as was Christopher Reeves in the Superman series, and to see myself filling the famous role of Neo immortalised by Keanu Reeves in the Matrix. Compared with my life, the roles in the pictures seemed so much more... I don't want to say that they were real, but they were certainly more appealing than the life I was living. Call it the success of Hollywood cinematography or call it the pathos that was my life, but I began to wish something shocking and drastic would happen, transforming my life into that of a fictitious hero who managed to overcome all odds, save the world, and win the heart of his lady, all within a neatly packaged two-hour-and-eighteen-minute window.
"Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it."
What follows is an account of how things came to pass. Consider it a cautionary tale to all those who dream of saving the world, to all those who dream of being rescued by a prince charming, and to all those who dream of living in a world created by Terry Goodkind or Stephen Spielberg. Their worlds don't exist, nor do the characters within them. Believing them to be real and wishing to live as Richard Rahl or Kahlan Amnell is as dangerous as cursing the heavens and mocking the fates. It is to invite disaster upon oneself, disaster from which there can be no reprieve.
"Are you still pining over that black hole of a relationship you called perfection?"
The question jolted me out of my daydreams. I had been thinking of my ex-girlfriend, Linda. This was the girl I had thought my dreams were made of; attractive, thought-provoking, and above all, claiming to love me. The reality, it turned out, was shockingly disappointing. Sure, Linda was easy on the eyes and could carry a conversation, but she was unbelievably selfish when it came to the things that mattered the most to me in our abortive relationship.
You see, Linda and I lived some eight hundred miles apart from each other and had met last summer by means of pure circumstance. We both had some friends in common who lived only an hour and a half from Montreal, which is where I was born and raised. In late July, they decided to hold a weekend retreat at their cottage, a retreat to which we were both invited. We had a blast and hit it off; campfires, exchanging stories, and playing like a pair of water-nymphs in the crystal-clear lake not fifty feet from the cottage was the weekend's standard fare. I was perfectly stress-free, having just completed my Bachelor's Degree at McGill University, and was finally looking to unwind after four years of academic toil; she was in the middle of her Bachelor's Degree at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, and was loving every minute of it.
Compared to the others at the cabin, we had the most in common, and so naturally gravitated towards each other for companionship. When it came time for me to leave, a few days before Linda was scheduled to leave, we both found it particularly difficult. Neither of us wanted to be apart from each other, as there was a strong bond of attraction formed between the two of us, on many separate levels. Although my staying at the cabin wasn't to be, we made sure we would be in touch.
A tumultuous long-distance relationship ensued, with Linda ending a relationship in which she was unhappy and with me cloistering myself off from the world, availing myself to her with frequent trips to the beautiful city of Richmond. The moments I spent down there were blissful; I got along superbly with her parents, easily befriended her entourage, and was able to cause the entire world outside the two of us to seem to simply disappear. Oh, and lest I forget, our passionate, soulful, and frequent lovemaking sessions left us both extremely satisfied. It seemed we were made for each other, and I couldn't foresee a future without her in it.
In the middle of October, I arranged for her to finally come and visit my family. While my parents and my sister were courteous while she was here, the end result was a disaster. Linda had not made a favourable first impression on those closest to me, and managed to piss everyone off. Unbeknownst to me, as I was blinded to everything and everyone except for her, she carried herself in such a manner as to say, "Look at me - I am your better", something to which my family took exception. After she left, the pressure to get rid of her was so great that I constantly found myself on the defensive. It was not a pleasant situation to be living in.
Come the turn of the month, Linda called me on the telephone and tearfully explained to me that our relationship couldn't develop any further. Her ex-boyfriend, whom she had dumped in order to be with me, was managing to get on with his life without her. This upset her greatly, as she had assumed that his love for her ought to be eternal; she wouldn't feel right being in any relationship so long as he could still play with her heartstrings.
I understood, and gave her the space she needed. But I was crushed.
It wasn't so much that we were breaking up because she wanted to get back together with her ex; I had previously met the fellow, and Linda was way too good for him. It was that she just had emotional baggage which she hadn't yet resolved, and she needed to do this before she could be with anyone, let alone the man she said she hoped would turn out to be her Prince Charming. Linda told me she needed to be alone simply so she could put her life back together, and to find out what it was that she really wanted out of life. Naturally, she wanted to "remain friends", as the phrase goes, and hoped we wouldn't lose touch.
I lasted about three weeks, until the pain was too much to bear. I knew from her IM away messages that she was often out at the movies with her friends, getting asked to dance at the local club, and enjoying life, all without me in the capacity as someone with whom she could share her happiness, on all levels of a healthy and romantic relationship. I understood that she needed space to recover emotionally and to reacquaint herself with self-esteem outside of a passionate commitment, but I couldn't act as a spectator, nor a confidante, nor a safety net during this period. It simply tore my heart to pieces, and I let her know that while I wouldn't stand in her way of finding her own happiness, it hurt me too much not to be a part of it.
Then, I dropped off her radar completely.
A period of about two weeks passed, and then it was the beginning of December. Things were starting to look up for me as I began to get my emotional life back on track. One of the classmates with whom I had taken Italian classes at McGill was beginning to show some interest in me, and it was an interest I was excited to pursue. We had scheduled a movie date for later that week; a no-pressure, low-key affair, simply to see if things could develop. And then the phone rang.
A tearful Linda was on the other end, professing how much she hated not having me in her life, how much she missed me, and (shockingly, given her hesitancy to express any sense of real commitment while we were together) that she was desperately in love with me. I was... well, bouleversé, as the French say. My entire world was thrown upside down. You see, I had fallen in love with Linda the moment I laid eyes on her, and my feelings for her had grown even stronger during our brief relationship. She knew that I had been in love with her because I had told her, but she had never responded in kind, saying that she didn't want to say Those Words until she meant it. So, when she said "I love you", the words rang in my ears that she was ready to have a real relationship with me and would be willing to do anything to make me happy, to help me become the best possible person I could, as I was willing to do for her.
It was only after I had driven down to visit her and spend a large portion of my pre-Christmas holiday with her when I realised that this simply wasn't the case. The one thing I wanted above all others from her was that she make the effort to patch things up between herself and my family, but she declared that it was pointless because they never would have accepted her. Be that as it might have been, that she declared it "Not worth the effort" made me realise that in her eyes, I wasn't worth the effort. Our relationship ended right there.
Never before in my life had I been made to feel so worthless. While Linda and I had been together (as much as our torrid romance could be classified as "togetherness"), I had given my everything in support of our relationship. I was characteristically understanding and accepting of the fact that her past wasn't exactly spotless; I was entirely supportive when she had difficulties with her classwork; she even went so far as to call me the best and most selfless lover she ever had, a man who received pleasure mainly from ensuring his partner was completely satisfied. All of these things, it seemed, things which would have made any normal woman happy to the end of her days, weren't enough for Linda.
"Hey! Earth to Drew! Are you still with us?"
It seemed my thoughts had wandered again. I snapped out of it, and turned to face the source of the voice. Lisa Goodman, a recent classmate of mine and a kindred spirit in most things, had been a bulwark of support through my difficult times. All things being equal, if she had been single and if I hadn't been carrying the weight of the world in depression on my shoulders, I think it's fair to say people would have mistaken us for a beautiful and happy couple.
"Sorry, Lis... my mind just seemed to wander for a minute there."
She snorted derisively. "Look, I understand you loved this girl and would have given her the world, but face it - she doesn't want you the way you are. And she's a fool for it."
I looked at her with faux surprise. "I wasn't thinking about Linda." When she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, I protested. "Really, I wasn't!"
"Come on, Drew. Lying was never one of your strong points. Your eyes give you away every time," Lisa explained. She always seemed to be able to root out falsehood whenever she encountered it. I was no exception, although I tried unsuccessfully to hide certain things from her. "How long has it been since you broke up?"
"Three months," I said sullenly.
"And how long since you two broke up has she called you?"
I frowned. "She hasn't." Lisa knew this already, but it was our habit when arguing a point to act in the most Socratic fashion possible. Establish premises we knew were unshakably true, ask questions to which we already knew the answers, and make the argument proceed along the single shortest path from beginning to conclusion. I already knew where she was going with the argument, so I lifted my right hand in defeat, stopping the argument short. Linda and I were never going to have a relationship again on the fair and equitable terms I wanted them, and the only reason she would call me was if she stood to stand some personal gain, regardless of how it would affect me.
Lisa's voice softened as she reached out and caringly placed her hand on my right shoulder. "I know it's not easy," she said, her eyes full of caring and understanding, "but you need to let go. You need to move on."
I hung my head in shame and despair. No matter how hard I tried to shake the past, to flush Linda out of my system, I couldn't seem to get over her. Nothing worked, and I wished, so desperately wished the world of hurt and pain would cease and I could be at peace with myself once again. It's not that I wished my relationship with Linda had never happened, because even through the pain I could recognise I had grown as a person and uncovered a great deal about myself. It was just that I wished I could feel the way I had before our relationship had started.
"Don't let your pain consume you," Lisa warned. "There are far worse fates than this."
Later that evening, I got into a brutal argument with my parents. The subject naturally centred around money. My parents had bags of it, and it had seemed to me that they used their vast financial resources as both a carrot and a stick when trying to get me to live the life they wanted for me instead of their own, and would stop at nothing to get their way. It seemed that no matter what I decided I wanted to do, my parents were fraught with disappointment, because it never seemed to measure up to their unattainable level of success. It felt to me that if I wasn't as successful as Bill Gates, they would always view me as a failure.
When I was younger, my parents planted the idea in my head that I should be the CEO of a bank, because bankers made vast sums of money. When I made it into high school, and there was a greater variety of subjects available for me to study, and a greater variety of interests to pursue, I dropped my parents' dream. I really enjoyed the sciences, and scored highly in all areas, particularly in biology. This caused my parents to plant the idea in my head that I should pursue medicine, because after all, doctors were very successful financially. However, after one of my friends had a close encounter with death as a result of an aggressively spreading cancer, the medical profession held no interest for me.
My parents were at a loss, and for the first time in my life it seemed like I would be able to pursue something I interested at college simply because it interested me, rather than pursuing something because it held the promise of a six-figure or greater salary at the end of the line. So, for a period of four years, I ruthlessly pursued my passion in the academic study of history - military history, American history, and the history of journalism all provided a source of enjoyment and fulfilment I had never experienced before. My interest translated into excellent grades, something for which I was extremely proud.
The only problem was that my parents saw my interest and success, and naturally decided that because I enjoyed history so much and did so well that I ought to pursue graduate studies, earn a doctorate, and teach at the university level. While it would never have the same financial reward as practising medicine, my parents would retain some bragging rights in that I would still be "Dr. Gordon". In the last year of my studies, I became tired of the long hours of research, nearly blinding myself after looking at months and months of microfilmed newspapers over fifty years old, in pursuit of a goal that wasn't my own. I managed to finish my degree and graduate with distinction, but I was done.
My parents, my mother in particular, were extremely disappointed when I announced to them that I wanted to settle down and teach history at the high school level. To them, teaching at high school simply wasn't a rewarding profession; it was, to them, a financial dead-end. While there was some merit to their statements, as high school teachers are brutally underpaid by their state governments, I wanted to make a difference in students' lives, and I doubted my patience would last seven more years in pursuit of a Ph. D. My parents had agreed previously to loan me the money to pursue my graduate studies (which, true to form, they would have forgiven following the completion of my degree) so long as I pursued that which they wanted.
However, they were less than eager to lend me the money to pursue a Master's in Education. It wouldn't have made a huge difference, as I had sufficient resources to pay for it on my own, although it would have severely limited my choice of schools. What bothered me was their cavalier attitude towards the choices I had made in pursuit of my own happiness, how they were angry that I had chosen not to follow the path they thought was best for me, and that they threatened me with a wide range of things, from being cut off from any hope of financial aid to being outright disowned.
"I don't understand," my mother snarled at me. "Why can't you be more like your sister? She wants to pursue a Ph. D. She's not disappointing us with her choice of career. She's doing exactly what we think is best for her!"
"Therein lies the problem," I retorted. "Not once have you and Dad taken the time to ask me what I wanted to do with my life. I mean, for Christ's sake, it's my life!"
"And so what, then. You'll just... you'll go to school, get a crappy paying job, and you'll just expect us to support you when you fall on your ass and you can't pay your bills?" I could see my mother's frustration was on the rise once again, and it wasn't pretty. Her face flushed a bright red, and the anger within her threatened to burst out at any moment in the form of an ear-shattering yell. It was all old hat to me; if my mother couldn't guilt someone into doing what she wanted, something at which she was extremely successful, she would resort to a show of anger and verbal abuse. "Well, it's not going to fucking happen. We're not going to be some... some goddamned meal ticket!"
She punctuated her words by slamming her right hand, open-fisted, against the kitchen island. I desperately wanted to raise my voice and rail at her for a dozen different reasons, showcasing her lack of supportiveness in my endeavours, her constant demeaning posturing and holier-than-thou attitude, and of course her emotional and financial blackmailing tactics. However, I merely ground my teeth and clenched my fists, keeping my own anger in check.
In a voice much calmer than I thought I would have been able to manage, given the circumstances, I replied, "And yet again, you never even bothered to ask me if that's what I wanted." A pause, punctuating the air with silence. "Of all the things I wanted from you and Dad, a meal ticket was never one of them."
With that, I turned my back to her and walked to leave the kitchen, and the house. The atmosphere in the room was simply too stifling; I needed fresh air to clear my head and to defuse my temper. I managed to take a handful of steps when my mother demanded, "And just where the hell do you think you're going?"
I paused, and looked at her over my shoulder. "Does it really matter, so long as it's away from here?"
After having walked in the cool spring air for about thirty minutes, I found myself next to a local Starbucks coffee shop. I had calmed down considerably, and it just felt good to be outside of my house. I don't think my parents would ever understand that for me, home right now was nothing more than a cage. To be certain, the bars were gilded, and all the amenities a human being could want were to be found within them - all the food I could want to eat, all of the entertainment I could ask for, and a level of comfortable living not easily surpassed in the outside world. But at the end of the day, it was still a cage... and I wanted out.
I opened the door, and "macho nodded" to the barista behind the counter. (If you're a guy, you're guaranteed to know what the "macho nod" is, having done it at least twice a day since you hit puberty. If you're a woman, and have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, simply chalk it under the column marked "Male Non-Verbal Communication Skills" under "The Fonz Thumbs-Up". Don't try to understand it; it's written into our genetic code the moment we're conceived.)
"So, what'll it be? The regular?" the barista asked. I had taken a couple upper-classmen history courses with him, and ever since I found out he worked at a coffee place local to mine, we had spent the better portion of our cramming sessions together sucking down liquid caffeine.
"Not today, Bill. I think I'm definitely gonna need some comfort coffee... fattening, full of sugar, and with lots of whipped cream." The look on Bill's face was priceless. Normally, I drink my coffee pure and simple: plain ground, without milk or sugar. I almost viewed it as sacrilege to pollute a good-tasting bean with sweetener and lightener. That, and given the amount of times I had preached my views on the subject to Bill, to the point he could recite my speech in time with me when I went on a tirade, it was impossible for him not to know something was definitely amiss. "Gimme one of them iced mocha frappo-whatevers."
"Want sprinkles with that, Madame?" he asked, with an almost straight face. I swear, he wanted to pull it off, but I knew Bill far to well. I could see he was trying very hard to keep from laughing, but it was a losing battle. Moments later, he went off into peals of laughter. The moment was so absurd and his mirth so contagious that I could help but crack up. If Bill was good for anything, it was for breaking tension and raising spirits.
"I don't know if that's wise," I joked, adopting an effeminate falsetto. "Let me see here... I know I have a diet guide in my purse somewhere..."
"Enough!" Bill exclaimed, grabbing his sides. "It hurts to laugh so hard."
A moment or two passed as we wound ourselves down, a small chuckle escaping here and there only serving to punctuate the hilarity of our exchange. The Starbucks was uncharacteristically empty for a Tuesday night, so Bill leisurely whipped together my drink (and I use the term facetiously), and offered to sit at a table with me. I took him up on his offer, sat down at a nearby table, and waited for him to bring me my pseudo-coffee.
"So," he said after a minute or so, making his way to the table with my beverage, "you want to tell me what's bothering you so much that you're about to commit your own self-professed 'mortal coffee sin' by having a chick drink? Let me guess." He narrowed his eyes, as if he was Superman trying to see through the walls of my soul. "Your ex-girlfriend. No, your parents. No, your application to the seven graduate programmes of education in the States."
Between the two of us, whenever I griped about something, it was always one of those three subjects. I'm not normally a whiner, but Bill selflessly and graciously acted as my permanent sounding board, and so whenever I felt like I needed to complain, I could always complain to him. As familiar as he was with my choice of coffee, as was his professional responsibility, he was even more familiar with my personal troubles. No one could ask for a better friend.
"How about: D) All of the above." Bill dropped his jaw, let out an exasperated sigh, and smacked himself on the forehead, shaking his head back and forth as if he was either commiserating with me or trying to simply negate what he had just heard. If only it were that simple; to say "No" and to have all of one's misfortunes instantaneously cease to exist.
"So, do you want to take it from the top, or do you just want to touch on what's bothering you the most?"
I thought for a moment or two, and went to take a sip of my drink. I put my mouth on the straw and inhaled, figuring that because the beverage was more or less frozen that I didn't need to watch myself as I did when I drank hot coffee. Man, was I surprised! I choked and sputtered, nearly spitting the concoction out in revulsion. "What the fuck is that?" I took a napkin and wiped the edges of my mouth, and then tried to wipe any remnants off of my tongue. "That's disgusting! I'm willing to bet you that Hell doesn't even taste that bad. My God, I hope I don't vomit."
Bill snickered. "You're the one who ordered it," he laughed. "Let me get you a real coffee. Black, no sugar?"
"Christ, please, save me from this Devil's Brew."
Bill got up from the table and took the offending plastic cup with him, tossing it into a garbage bag as he made his way behind the counter. He nabbed a regular coffee cup, filled it with the plainest coffee on the menu, brought it to me, and sat back down. I picked it up, tentatively took a small sip, and moaned deep in my throat as the flavours played across my tongue, washing away any hint of the vile so-called "candy drink" I had just previously tasted. "My goodness," I said with a guttural voice, "I definitely needed that."
Bill laughed again. "You make drinking coffee look like it's a religious experience. 'And the Lord spaketh, "Drinketh the roasted ground, and thine palate shalt be saved!" ' "
I chuckled in reply. "Ass," I accused, although it was true. Nothing could prepare me better for my day, could wash a bad taste out of my mouth (real or figurative), or could provide a comforting numbness than a mug of freshly brewed coffee. "I honestly don't know how people can abstain from drinking it. Sure, it's a stimulant, and yes, it creates a nasty caffeine dependency, and oh my, some claim it could be carcinogenic... but damn! It just tastes so good."
"You're preaching to the choir, buddy. Preaching to the choir." Bill had poured himself a coffee as well, identical to mine, took a sip, closed his eyes, and paused a moment. After savouring the flavour, he swallowed, opened his eyes and looked at me. "So, back to the reason you're here. What's up?"
I unfolded the events of earlier this evening to him, with an almost play-by-play and colour commentary accompaniment. "Basically, my mom freaked out when I wouldn't give into her demands to study something more... I don't know, lucrative... and then she went emotionally postal on me. She accused me of using the family as a 'meal ticket.' I mean, shit... I am so unbelievably fed up of her sanctimonious bullshit!"
"Whoa, whoa there, pardner," Bill said, holding his hands up in a stop-and-slow-down manner. "Take it easy, I'm on your side."
I let out a deep, frustrated sigh. Just thinking about the exchange with my mother only seemed to cause my blood to boil, and I wanted to avoid becoming more angry than necessary. "I know, Bill, and I'm sorry. I just wish I didn't have to hear her preach as if she was better than me. It's nothing short of hypocritical how she expects me to be this über-rich and successful professional when she elected to live at home and raise my sister and I." I took a moment to think this over, considering deeply the implications of my statement. "Don't get me wrong - I think she did a great job of raising me, and I sure as hell appreciated having a mom around the house to, you know, keep the house - but I think she would at least hold us to a similar standard to which she holds herself."
Bill laughed. "Come on, you don't really believe that, do you? Understand I'm not taking your mother's side, but it's natural for a kid's parents to want more for their children than they had for themselves."
"Doesn't she get it that it's my life, and not hers?"
"No," Bill said, "she doesn't. And that's what's making this so frustrating for you - you and you alone have to bear both the responsibility for and the consequences of your actions. Look, bottom line is - no matter what, you can't please everyone. Someone is always going to be disappointed in you. But, so long as you take care of your own happiness and live the life you want to live, then everything else will just fall into place the way it's meant to be."
"I don't know..." I wavered. "I just wish I didn't have to put up with my family anymore."
"Well, there's only a couple of months left before you leave for the States, right?" Bill asked. "What could possibly go so terribly wrong from now until then?"
An ominous roll of thunder punctuated his words.