College #2
"Oh, Tyler," I moaned, pitching my voice just a little higher, forcing an ecstatic tremor into the sound. "Fuck, you're just so big."
The moans were a lie—I just wasn’t into it—but faking it was necessary, part of the transaction, part of the official girlfriend’s job. My moans kept his precious ego fed and got him off.
He opened his eyes, a flicker of pride and relief washing over his face. He looked down at me, finally seeing me.
"You like that?" he panted, his rhythm becoming faster, more frantic. "You like my dick, baby?"
"Yes," I gasped, throwing my head back, letting my hair fan out on the granite. I started to pant, faking the breathless, out-of-control sounds I knew he wanted to hear. "I'm so close! Don't stop!"
That was all it took.
He locked his hips and bottomed out hard, pumping thick, scalding ropes of cum deep into my guts before he collapsed against me, his heavy, sweaty weight pinning me to the countertop. He stayed inside me, panting, his chin on my shoulder.
I lay there, still staring at the ceiling, feeling his seed cooling inside me. My body was slick and used, but my mind was cold and clear. He was satisfied. He had been serviced.
He pulled out with a wet, sloppy sound and stumbled back, pulling up his shorts. He didn't offer me a towel. He didn't help me down.
"Feel better?" I asked, swinging my legs off the counter and pulling my dress down.
"Yeah," he said, walking back to the fridge to grab another Gatorade. "Yeah, I needed that."
He chugged it, then turned to me, his brow furrowed with a familiar, anxious look.
"Hey, listen," he started, a nervous edge to his voice. "I wouldn't ask, but I'm a little short this week. My guy, he, uh... he needs a couple hundred to tide him over. You got it?"
"A couple hundred?" I repeated, my voice flat, all traces of the breathless, ecstatic girl from two minutes ago completely gone. "Tyler, I don't have it."
He frowned, leaning against the refrigerator, his bare chest slick with a thin sheen of post-coital sweat. "What do you mean you don't have it? You just got your student loan disbursement."
"That was gone the day it hit my account," I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
The raw humiliation of being dead broke made my voice brittle.
"It went straight to tuition. The rest of it went to rent, books for this semester, my car insurance...
I'm overdrawn, Ty. I have forty-three dollars to my name until my next shift at The Beanery on Friday. "
I didn't mention the red PAST DUE notice from the electric company pinned to my corkboard. I didn't want him to know just how close to the edge I really was.
Tyler ran a hand through his damp hair, a frustrated, angry gesture. He wasn't looking at me with sympathy; he was looking at me with the pure, selfish annoyance of a man whose easy solution had just been taken off the table.
"Fuck," he muttered, pacing the small kitchen space. "Sloane, I need it. It's not a joke."
"And I need to eat," I shot back, the frustration finally bubbling over. "I need to put gas in my car to get to class."
"But I need it more!" he snapped, turning on me, his eyes flashing with a sudden, ugly anger.
"It's an investment, okay? I need to stay focused.
I can't have this other shit hanging over my head.
If I make it to the draft, we're set for life.
For life, Sloane. You get that, right? A couple hundred bucks now is nothing compared to that. "
It was the argument he always used. The great, glittering promise of the NFL Draft.
It was the magical cure-all, the golden ticket that was supposed to make all this struggle worthwhile.
It was the reason I put up with his selfishness, the reason I faked orgasms, the reason I let him treat me like a glorified fleshlight.
I was investing my time, my body, and my dwindling emotional reserves into his potential.
But sitting there, feeling his cum starting to leak out of me, sticky and cold against my thighs, the promise felt thinner than ever.
"I can't give you money I don't have," I said, my voice quiet now, defeated. I walked over to the counter and picked up my keys. The plastic keychain felt heavy in my hand. "I have to go. I need to study."
"Wait," Tyler said, his voice losing its angry edge, replaced by a desperate, wheedling tone I knew all too well. He grabbed my arm, stopping me before I could leave. His grip was gentle, but firm.
He looked at me, his eyes wide and pleading. He looked like a little boy again, a handsome, muscular child who had gotten himself into trouble and needed someone else to fix it.
"Okay," he said softly. "Okay, I get it. You're broke too. I'm sorry."
The apology felt thin, practiced. It was what he said when he knew he'd pushed too hard.
"It's just..." he continued, running his free hand through his damp hair. "This guy... he's not a student, Sloane. He's serious. I just need to figure something out before the end of the week."
I looked at him, at the genuine fear starting to creep back into the corners of his eyes, and the anger I felt just a moment ago curdled into a heavy, weary resignation.
This was my life. My problems were my own, but his problems were somehow mine, too.
His athletic potential was a shared asset, which meant his debts were a shared liability.
"I'll see what I can do," I said, the words tasting like a lie. "Maybe I can pick up an extra shift at the cafe."
An extra eight-hour shift would get me maybe sixty dollars after taxes. It was a drop in the ocean of whatever hole Tyler had dug for himself, but it was the only thing I could offer.
A flicker of relief washed over his face. The panic rinsed away. Tyler knew he had me on the hook. He saw me taking responsibility.
"Thanks, baby," he said, pulling me into a hug. He pressed his face into my hair. "You're the best. I knew you'd help me figure it out. We're a team, right?"
"Right," I mumbled into his sweaty shoulder, my arms limp at my sides. "A team."
He leaned back and kissed me again, a quick, proprietary peck on the lips. "Call me tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I said, pulling my arm free. "I will."
I walked out of his clean, air-conditioned apartment and back into the humid night. The door clicked shut behind me, and I was alone in the quiet, sterile hallway.
As I walked back toward my own crumbling building, I didn't feel like I was part of a team. I felt like I was the only one playing.