High School Harlots 3

The first rule of Slut Club is: you don’t talk about Slut Club.

They say confession is good for the soul. All the names have been changed to protect the slutty. So these made up names are different than the ones I used in the New Years Resolution post, and I can’t be bothered to look them up, so it’s a new set of fake names.

So anyway, I was working as a cashier at this mall. There was this 16 year old girl, Betty, that bought something from me and liked me. Later she told me she went to this store all the time to buy stuff from me. I never noticed her. But at some point, a friend of mine, who was friends with this girl who was friends with Betty, told me about this party. She said, “do you know Betty? You know, this girl. With long brown hair and brown eyes? You met her at the mall.”

Honestly, I didn’t remember. But she strongly, strongly implied that Betty liked me, had a crush on me, and was interesting in doing something with me. She didn’t come right out and say, “Betty wants to fuck you” but I got the message.

So a friend and I went to this party. My friend’s friend introduced me to Betty. She was 16, cute, and I sort of remember seeing her around the mall. We chatted about whatever. She told me she liked me.

I don’t remember much of the build up here, but what I came to find out is that Betty was a virgin, and wanted me to deflower her. This entire thing had been an elaborate set up, between her and her friends, to invite me to this party and have me “break her in.”

So we wind up talking a lot, go off someplace quiet and kiss a few times, make out a bit. Then everyone starts passing out and going to sleep, and she and I lay down on a couch, in a room with about 10 other people asleep on other couches, the floor, and curled up in chairs. We make out, things get a little hot and heavy, and we start taking our clothes off under this blanket we have. I had condoms with me – don’t remember if I brought them or someone gave them to me – and I get some last minute assurances that this is really what she wants.

So, we’re naked, I’m hard, I’m on top of her, and I start to stick it in. I remember she winced, grimacing in pain. I stop. I ask her, “does it hurt?” She has her eyes tightly closed, and nods her head up and down, “yes.” I ask her, “do you want me to stop?” She shakes her head back and forth, “no.” So gently, slowly, I keep pushing it in. I go really slow for a bit, then start going in and out, a bit harder and faster. Soon, her face relaxes, she starts moaning. I’m kissing her, biting her neck, biting her earlobes, and this goes on for, I don’t know, ten minutes? Hey – I was 16! She was something like my third! Give me a break. At some point I come. I keep making out with her, pull it out, and put the condom in the ashtray on the table next to us. We fall asleep together.

Well, the next morning, her friend decides to razz us about this. I guess she wasn’t sure if we were going to go all the way or not. She says, loudly so the other couples can hear, “oh my god they did it! Look, there’s the rubber in the ashtray! Naughty naughty!” Betty is a bit embarrassed, but not really that much. But the trouble came when word got back to her older brother who was at the party as well. Some guy tells me, “hey, her brother is fucking pissed. He’s in the other room, pacing around, saying, ‘that hippie dude fucked my little sister! I’m going to fucking kick his ass!’

Considering her brother was definitely tougher than me, and a guy who had already had his car torched over cocaine debts to gangs, and was rumored to carry, I was fucking scared and expecting a fight, one that I could very well possibly lose. But someone convinced him to leave, so Betty and I and her friends hung out for a while, I got Betty’s phone number, we all went to the local diner for breakfast, and I told Betty I’d call her and we would hang out again. We would “date” for about a year, on and off, after that. My parents didn’t allow me to fuck at their house, and her parents wouldn’t let her fuck at her house – she actually was not supposed to be having sex at all, and was not on the pill (yet) – so she would drive her stepdad’s truck to my house, we’d drive over to the local park – which doubled as a “lover’s lane” for the neighborhood, and fuck in the back.

Once, for whatever reason, the cops decided to knock on the window right while we were fucking. She quickly puts her shirt and pants on, while I’m covering myself with my jeans, and she rolls down the window. The cops says, “ma’am, is everything all right in here?” She says, “yes, it’s my boyfriend.” The cop asks, “is there anything happening here you don’t want to be happening?” She says, “no, it’s ok, it’s my boyfriend. We’re just, uh, hanging out.”

The cops says, “ok ma’am. Stay safe,” and gets back in his car and drives away.

See, consent is sexy! Where’s my fucking ally cookie, feminists?

5 thoughts on “High School Harlots 3

  1. You were a much better Christian than I was.

    When I got hit on, I turned them down because, i thought casual was bad, and while cute enough, they weren’t “girlfriend material”.


    1. It’s funny, I think I had low self esteem when I was young. I used to fall in love with any girl that showed me attention – MW says when he had sex with some girl, he would think they were trashy, that if they were having sex with him, there must be something wrong with them. I think I was the exact opposite. When a girl paid attention to me, I’d automatically like her.

      LOL but they just kept coming, more and more, over and over again. So I started getting somewhat choosey I guess.

      Honestly, I love women. My sister and I always say we have half of each other’s brains – she has half a man’s brain, and I have half a woman’s brain.


  2. Good story. You are a natural alpha, HR.

    That’s a gift. That’s why you can be the best. Only a few had a childhood like that. When someone like you spends about 4 years in PU, he can’t be equaled.

    This is what I mean by developing your genetic talents. I can’t do what you can do in that area.

    I did notice you seemed too emotional in your rant against the older white woman. The goal is to change her, not to feel good.


    1. Actually, I’m not really an “alpha” at all. I’m a slut. I do have a handsome face, I’ve been told.

      And I am emotional – which is both a strength and a weakness. I suspect that’s the reason I’m “good” with women, because I’m actually rather empathetic to women. I’m one of those guys whose closest friends are women – interestingly, older women. My best friend is a 52 year old woman.

      This blog is just my therapy to help me get over a decade long case of PTSD.


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