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I like to think of myself as a master of exploitation. Others will call me a bitch, a whore, or just plain evil. But my interference in the affairs of others is minimal; its victims further extend the problems I cause. Many solutions present themselves, but are neither explored nor realized. I feel no sympathy, and remain far from empathy. I only feel joy for every second of misery they experience. And the best part will always be the transition period; when they realize that the fun I gave them is becoming a great misfortune, and in some cases, a disaster.
Chapter 03 – Returning to Consciousness
Needless to say, my recovery from the events at West Virginia required relocation. I decided to transfer to a university in Southern California, which, because of certain details in the following story, will remain unnamed. To regather myself, to completely undo all the brainwashing that manipulative whore I left in the basement did, I drove across the country to my new home.
It was the summer of 2006. I had some catching up to do on music, so I threw in the new CDs I’d gotten shortly before departing, “10,000 Days” by Tool. “Mesmerize” and “Hypnotize” by System of a Down. And just to mix it up, “Black Holes and Revelations” by Muse. It was meant to clear my mind, and that it did. I took the fresh air of Middle America full blast with the windows rolled down, the sweet crunching melodies of guitar, and every knob inside my head being reset to zero.
In collecting myself, I had to rationalize everything I had done. Every pussy I had worshipped, every cock I had sucked. There had to be some other reason than love for me to indulge in every sexual kink imaginable in such a short amount of time. Besides, was it really love that I felt? It was more of an obsession. Allowing a seduction to become a cardiac probing. I was tricked, that was the plain and simple fact. I would not have become what I did had she not been there to make me a guinea pig in her little experiment. It wasn’t my fault that I became a real slut.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it.
I admitted to myself, when crossing the border into Oklahoma, that sex was fantastic. Even not knowing who it was that I was fucking made it exciting. It was fun to pleasure someone else, fun to receive it. But it caused an immense mental weakness within me, and until I could control that piece of myself, I would really have to be careful. I am the one who exploits weaknesses, not the other way around.
So as I arrived in California, driving through the vast Mojave Desert, I came to a conclusion – join the profession where sex means nothing: filmmaking.
I immediately jumped onto the school radio program. There was an open slot on Fridays at 7:00, primetime for rock and roll radio. I figured all these pop-chewing kids wouldn’t give two shits about it, but it was my slot and I intended to use it. College radio, I came to find, was a rather precarious thing. There’s no fight for ratings, no sponsors or ads. But the danger comes in the actual content put out. Unlike the real world, there are a few items of propaganda the school wanted me to follow.
“Safe sex is not a joke,” I’d say at 7:30 on the dot. It twisted my arteries every time I said it. It reminded me too much of high school. Being coddled into a false perception of personal care. But I had to hand it to them, using a fear tactic was a nice way to get what they wanted. If only they could learn how to make it work.
I made the school paper the week before school started by playing an entire album during my slot. I skipped right over the announcements and messages I was told to say and just kept the record playing. It’s not really that interesting news, but what else is going to happen before the first lecture has lulled us all to sleep? So it went down in print that I had played Catch 22’s “Permanent Revolution” in its entirety. Just before the fifth track, word had gotten around campus what was going on, and practically every party had tuned in.
I suppose they saw it as a nice sign of rebellion. A symbol of individuality in our last step before the real world. So when “A Minor Point” blasted through everyone’s speakers, I was a name to remember for at least the remainder of summer.
Among the thousands that came to know the name Kim Lazenby, one was already very familiar. That one is who truly came to establish me as a social assassin.
I sat in a screenwriting class with a typically pompous old woman with crazy hair. She definitely seemed the creative type but lacked the charisma to expand her touch upon the artistic world beyond the page. The way I saw it, there was no way that she could remove my own characteristics, so why worry about her influence? She can only teach me. That was the idea, wasn’t it?
The forty other kids in the room seemed to be hanging on every word she said. A bunch of wide-eyed freshman so fortunate to have been accepted to this prestigious establishment. I was one of two transfers, not only escort beşevler from another school but from another program entirely. I sat with the other, one Harry Figgan. He had this miraculously natural head of jheri curls and piercing blue eyes that almost made me afraid to look at him. I could tell he was very happy to be here, but he wasn’t so falsely enthralled as the rest. He was ready to work, not just to listen.
So at the end of the lecture we were all assigned to go watch “Rain Man” to get a nice idea of story structure. Harry offered to watch it with me, and I accepted.
Back in his dorm, there were movie posters wall to wall. I couldn’t understand how he didn’t just jump straight into the film program, but for one reason or another, that was how it was. He went to a drawer underneath his bed and revealed about a hundred DVDs, one of which was the choice film of our professor.
The film started rolling. The lights were off and the blinds were pulled. We sat on his bed, facing the opposite wall where the small TV stood on a small bookshelf. It was a small, uncomfortable room designed for one-half people. Yet somehow I fell straight into an old habit.
It must have been ten minutes before I realized I was stroking his cock. At some point I simply reached over and started rubbing over his shorts, and the motions took the rest for me. It had been three months since I had even seen someone naked but here I was falling right back into my brainwashed state. It was my hypnosis still shining through.
When I snapped out of it, I jumped off the bed in shock and practically ran out of the building. I was smart enough not to live on campus, so my location would be unknown to the strange boy who now thought I was some sorority bimbo. Which I was.
I found a very nice apartment, only a five minute drive from school. It was a one bedroom place with a separate living room and kitchen. It was very well sized for me. I didn’t feel suffocated, but I didn’t feel trapped in space. It was a Goldilocks apartment.
I ran into my place practically hyperventilating. I knew this would be an issue at some point, but for it to be so subconscious, so easy; it was enough to make me vomit. The absolute hatred I held for Helena was directly associated with sex, in any form. I knew this would be a challenge I would have to overcome, or it would undo me once again.
I saw the outcome of failure. I saw myself rationalizing that being a brainless sex toy for the pleasure of all that desire me would not be so bad. I saw myself being passed around at parties with every passing year until my looks faded and my body failed me. Then left in solitude with no saving grace. It was an inspiring thought. Inspiring to defeat that fate, of course.
Inspiring because I was aroused by the idea.
Smart woman that I am, I realized that in order to defeat this conditioning I would have to continue to be sexually active with full awareness. I would have to learn my real preferences, my real desires, and my real distastes. With enough concentration and thought, I would be able to undo all of the bimbofication I was subjected to for the sake of a thesis.
This thought process occurred over the course of an hour after I threw up into my sink. It took time to come down from the shock. And when I had finally regained my usual composure, I realized I had to do something about Harry. There would be no way I could recover if he went around marking my slutdom for all to know. He seemed like a very meek and rational guy. I was sure he could be reasoned with.
Next on the list would be the decision – pick a regular fuck buddy or sleep around? Going to parties would definitely be too big of a gamble. Alcohol would be the last thing I need to control my inhibitions. So maybe a regular is the much safer choice. One person who I could trust to stop me if I begin losing my stoicism. But what kind of man would agree to limited sex to de-bimbo me? So it should be a woman. Someone who can understand me on a more personal level when it comes to sex. But not a major partier. Not a straight girl who just wants to explore.
Now where can I find a girl like that?
“What’s going on the waves today, Kim?”
Terry Hannidy was the senior in charge of the radio programming. He was the only one on 92.4 faculty that actually liked my freewill style of airplay. Every week I would walk in to see him hunched over a desk, making lists of the best artists of this year or last year or last decade or last century. He taught me the boards and the mics from the moment I walked in during the summer. Terry knew I was a real music lover, and he would be the last one to stop me from expressing it.
“Open with some Streetlight Manifesto. Switch over to Five Iron Frenzy. Feeling ska today for sure,” I told him. I walked straight into my booth with the CDs already stacked up in my bag.
“Always the stuff we don’t have,” he chuckled.
“That might change escort balgat if people could just move on from Justin and Kelly,” I spat at no one in particular.
Terry just laughed. He had more optimism for the state of music than I did. I sat down in my chair and started unpacking the discs, getting them ready for use. In the second studio across the hall, Patty Roberts was finishing up her program on the state of French fashion. I couldn’t hear a word she was saying, nor did I want to. I had no faith in her being anything but a basic, superficial fashionista. Always about the hot items and never about the actual look.
Terry stood up and went to the master board, fading out of her program and cutting into the stinger: “92.4 ******** College Radio”. Without a word, I let the airwaves punch right into the horn section from Streetlight. I always thought it was best to start out strong before I say anything. Except of course for the Catch 22 incident. I just hit play and let the good times roll.
When the first song ended I swung the mic over to my mouth and signed on. “Good evening all you phonies out there. I hope you had a stressful week at school because as usual, it’s time to wind down with friends and booze, because what the hell else are we supposed to do? Don’t forget to get online and find out what’s going on in the world so you can read the gist of it and pretend you’re an informed adult. Meanwhile you can keep guzzling the liquor and regretting it every morning. It’s a win-win. Here’s Five Iron Frenzy’s ‘My Evil Plan to Save the World’.”
And once again the horns blared. Terry said that people loved my brutal honesty. Fortunately it was a campus of kids who could laugh at themselves. If I had done anything like this back in West Virginia I would have been every fraternity’s target for the remainder of my education.
When my hour ended, I decided to go out for a walk instead of going home. I felt that I didn’t know the area as well as I should, and it couldn’t hurt to start exploring. But as I walked through the campus, I got a bit too lost in thought. Music was so strong in my mind. I was thinking about what kind of band I would have if I could. I would definitely be the drummer. What would the band name be? That’s a difficult one. It really depends on the chemistry I have with the other bandmates. What would we…
I found myself at a sorority house. I don’t know which one. The lights were all on, but I didn’t hear a single noise coming from inside. Nobody was home. Or whoever was home wasn’t making a sound. I just walked right in. There was something drawing me in, probably the habit of living in a house just like it.
The house was almost identical, or maybe it was just my mind filling in the gaps that I ignored. I looked left to the kitchen and saw myself getting fucked on the counter top. I looked right to the living room and saw a big-titted slut riding my face. The memories were flooding back in graphic detail. I could already feel myself getting wet.
I ran out as quickly as I could. I must have slammed the door shut behind me, because as I bent over, putting my head between my legs, a voice came from behind me. “Hello?”
I turned around, shrouded by the dark of night. I saw the silhouette of a long-haired girl. I completely lost myself for just a split second. I walked back to the steps to get a closer look at her. I almost thought it was Helena.
No, this girl is a brunette. She’s taller than Helena, but not by much. She’s got big beautiful brown eyes. She looks so sweet. I have to talk to her.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “I walked into the wrong house. I was thinking too hard.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s okay. You just scared me a little.”
“My name’s Kim,” I told her. The conversation could have ended there but I felt so compelled to talk to her. It must have been my intense need to fuck her. I could see every curve on her tight body outlined by the light coming from inside. There wasn’t a single thought going through my head. Only images of what she must look like naked.
“I thought I recognized that voice. I love your program,” she said, smiling.
“Oh, thanks,” I said, looking down, trying to hide my blushing cheeks. Her smile burned its way into my veins and made my already simmering blood boil with arousal. “Terry says I get a lot of listeners.”
“How do you do it? You’re so witty on the air, do you just make it up?” she asked.
“Yeah, it just sort of… comes to me.” I saw myself cumming on her face, watching her lap everything up between my legs.
“I like the music you play. I get kind of sick of all that poppy crap about getting a boyfriend.”
The topic of music reeled me back from the image of my hand striking her face and pushing her against the wall. I didn’t want to seem as desperate for her as I was. “Rock hasn’t been getting as much appreciation as it deserves. And some genres are being ignored when really they’re just starting to get into their better escort batıkent years.”
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “This might be a little weird but do you want to come inside? All the other sisters went to some frat party and I couldn’t find anyone to hang out.”
I came inside. I was so enthralled by her that I didn’t even nod or smile. I just walked up the steps and she walked me in. Then I really saw her face.
I gasped. Quietly, to myself. She didn’t hear, or at least I hoped she didn’t. Seeing her face nearly overtook me all at once, but I suppose enough time had passed since West Virginia to leave my defenses just a little higher.
“I’m Kimmie Bozeman,” she said. “Two Kimberly’s.” I saw us both covered in cum from a huge cock. “So are you in a sorority?”
“Delta Gamma,” I said. I wasn’t, not anymore. But I said it anyway.
“I haven’t seen you there,” she said.
“I was a founder at…” I coughed, but forgot to let it cover up the name. “…West Virginia University.”
That’s when the look glazed over her eyes. She knew. She knew exactly what that sorority was like. Word had gotten around the country to every college with a greek presence. It was just a legend, a myth about the sluttiest college girls in the world. I didn’t know that we’d become famous, but I do now. And Kimmie knew.
Then I saw her melt. Through her thin tank top her nipples hardened like water freezing into ice. Her lips parted ever so slightly as her mind turned itself off. The glaze over her eyes only said fuck me now.
“You founded the chapter there?” she asked.
Suddenly our roles had reversed. Now she was the putty in my hands. I turned my confidence back on. “Yes, I did.” Her legs seemed like they were weakening. She wanted to fall to her knees.
“I what?” I inquired, taking a step closer to her, looking directly into her begging brown eyes.
“You…” I was inches away from her, and I let her think I might touch her at any moment. “You were very popular,” she finished. But I knew what she was really thinking. The story of Delta Gamma was so ridiculous it didn’t require hyperbole or exaggeration. If anything, people might downgrade the story from absolute insanity to a general interest in whoredom and sin. This girl believed every word of the story, but only because she didn’t know the truth of it.
“We were,” I said. “It was certainly an interesting experience.”
“I heard that…” she hesitated. She was blushing, but did nothing to hide it. Perhaps she didn’t realize. “It’s just a rumor, right? You fucked every single day?”
I started laughing, and she laughed along. I let her think it was all some silly gossip for that brief moment before I corrected her. “I mean, not just that. We fucked anyone who walked through the door. This girl Nessa and I had a threesome with some guy who just popped by – he chose the two of us, we let him take his pick – the rest of the sisters got jealous.”
Kimmie went slack-jawed and blank. “You just…”
“Started sucking his cock. My very first blowjob, actually. It was… oh, it was massive. Then I went downstairs and ate out one of the other sisters in the kitchen. She was trying to masturbate but she wanted help so of course I was there for her.”
“Wow. I mean… I had no idea.” She wasn’t disgusted. In fact, Kimmie looked impressed. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, and I saw her hand start to slide back and forth across the marble countertop, probably envisioning how it looked.
I was getting cocky. It was fun to see her amazement at our limitless appetites, and I admit that in that moment I could have talked for hours to a stadium of listeners about the countless orgasms achieved under that roof. Of course, I would have needed a break now and again to take care of myself. What little I had said to Kimmie had already had me simmering.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
I was almost terrified of the question. I could feel something begin to twist within me, but then the curiosity in her eyes overwhelmed my senses, and the fear subsided. I know now I was about to think of Helena, to imagine what horrors she might be suffering and wonder why she never saw my wrath developing under her nose. Instead, and I thank Kimmie every day for this, I felt happy about my time at Delta Gamma.
“We wanted to,” I told her. “It made us so happy, and we felt so free. I can’t say I felt strongly about every one of the sisters, but… some of them were true friends underneath all the sex. It was… the best thing at the time for all of us to do.”
The girl in front of me was enthralled, even inspired. “That’s so… I don’t know what it is but it sounds wonderful. Do you miss it?”
“I’ll never find another chapter like it, so I guess I do.”
“There’s some pretty slutty chapters around here,” Kimmie said, tilting her head with a few in mind. “The Kappas, the Tri-Deltas…” there was something else on the tip of her tongue, but she pressed it behind her teeth like it was a mannerism. I didn’t buy it.
When I took a closer look at her and saw the flush below her collar, the smoothness of her legs, the way her legs crossed at the ankle, even the hint of unpaced breathing, I could tell what was happening before I walked through the door.
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