Cross
One year, one month—almost two. That’s how long I’ve known her, watched her, followed her, checked the cameras in her room to ensure she was safe.
Fifty-five weeks, when I thought I’d lose interested in one or two as I usually do.
In all this time, I figured out I couldn’t really have her, and certainly couldn’t keep her.
She’s vanilla as fuck. Shocked by a little public display, outraged when some guy made a move on her at the house last year. I know what I am, what I like.
I thought trying to fit with someone like her was never going to work.
One of us would have to change too much, settle, lose something.
I love nothing more than to fuck a hot pussy while feeling someone’s cock through the thin wall of flesh between her holes, hearing her moan around another cock.
I want to devour my woman’s cunt while thrusting into some girl’s asshole, too.
I want to watch, and show, and share. I was raised into it.
Not that my parents would ever fuck in front of Selene or me, but growing up, I’ve seen Mom and Dad casually kiss family friends on the mouth.
As a teen, my sexuality evolved around fellow legacies who all tend to gravitate towards sharing.
That’s my normal. The very concept of forever choosing to fuck a single person, to the exclusion of any other attractive people, doesn’t compute to me.
My parents are deliriously happy. I’ve never seen them fight; they argue about the best Jurassic Park movie, what to have for dinner, and where to go on holidays, but their relationship has never been hard.
I know it’s because they’re not required to constantly prove and justify the fact that their reproductive organs shut down around other people.
That’s the life I want for myself. There are plenty of women into the exact same thing, and those are the ones I can choose.
So, I’ve known from the first day I looked into her that Lily wasn’t for me. Not for real, not to keep. The books she reads, the porn she watches, her relationship history—a single boyfriend in her entire life—all pointed towards that conclusion.
All those certainties crashed and burned this afternoon.
If you win, I’ll gladly blow the whole bloody team.
People don’t say that sort of thing out of the blue. At least, people who would never consider doing just that.
Lily Trueman is a dirty little slut, underneath it all. She likely doesn’t even realize it herself, but now I know. I’ve discovered a layer behind the Goody Two-shoes facade, and there’s no unlearning it.
I’m hard as I watch her on my screen, though she’s just casting a resin mold, humming a little song.
Her roommate comes in, screaming about the smell, the health and safety issues, promising she’ll complain to the faculty if Lily keeps doing that sort of things in their room.
Blushing, Lily rushes to the window, opening it wide as she apologizes. “I thought you were gone for the night. That’s why I texted you to check.”
“I forgot my purse. It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to sleep in a room with toxic fumes!”
Lily’s apologetic, but she returns to her casting once the roommate leaves—with the window open this time.
Still, I watch, my mind running, calculating, analyzing every piece of data I’ve gathered in our acquaintance.
I come to the inevitable conclusion by the time she wraps herself under her covers, window still open.
I’ve been hers for a year. Time to work out if she could be mine.