Back Home - May/June Community Contest

[RapeU]

Teaser: Looking back, I still don't know whether Brittany stayed because she wanted me, because she wanted revenge, or because leaving felt harder than staying. All I know for certain is that the lights went out that night. Afterward, everything was different.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Back Home
Author: RapeU
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Written for the May/June Community Contest

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Back Home

“I have a boyfriend.”

Brittany paused for a moment before adding, almost apologetically, “He’s back home.”

I was a freshman in college, and it seemed like every girl I liked already had a boyfriend. Normally hearing a girl mention her boyfriend would have ruined my week. I would have spent days comparing myself to some guy I’d never met, inventing reasons he was better than me and wondering what invisible quality I lacked.

This time things were different. Her boyfriend wasn’t there, and we were both freshman in college away from our hometowns. Every freshman on campus was busy becoming somebody new. The quiet kids from high school were suddenly outgoing. The outgoing kids were trying to reinvent themselves as intellectuals. People who had dated for years were discovering that distance was a lot more difficult than they’d imagined. Others like me who had peed their pants during a test suddenly had a fresh reputation.

The sadness in Brittany’s voice told me more than her actual words. The way she said, “He’s back home,” made me suspect she was already wondering whether her relationship would work. Long-distance relationships survive on effort through phone calls, visits, patience, and trust. Most importantly, they survive because both people want them to survive. I tried online dating numerous times in high school because every girl around me seemed taken. It never worked. I knew it was only a matter of time before Brittany’s relationship ended.

So I listened to Brittany talk. That was how everything started. We sat together in the cafeteria after class, studied in the library, and walked across campus together. Sometimes we talked about our hometowns. Other times we complained about professors. Then there were times we sat in comfortable silence.

The first time we hugged it lasted only a second. The second time it lasted a little longer. When we hugged a third time there wasn’t really a reason for it, but neither of us pointed it out. By October, we had developed an arrangement that worked remarkably well for both of us. Brittany missed having a boyfriend nearby. I enjoyed being nearby. Neither of us ever described it that way, but that was the reality of the situation.

The hugs became more common. Then they became longer. If we sat together on a couch, we sat a little closer than friends normally would. If we watched a movie together, neither of us seemed particularly interested in maintaining personal space. Every step felt small enough for her to justify. Brittany didn’t wake up one morning and decided to cross a line with me. Instead she spent weeks convincing herself we hadn’t reached it yet. And I let her.

When we kissed for the first time, it only lasted a few seconds. Afterward Brittany reminded me that she had a boyfriend. I remember finding that funny because we both knew the reminder wasn’t accomplishing anything. Each time she said the words they carried less weight than the prior time.

I was being used, but I didn’t complain because I was using her too. Brittany was a college hottie, accessible and reachable. This wasn’t meant to be a serious relationship. I was a freshman in college, hundreds of miles from everyone who had known me growing up, spending time with an attractive girl who clearly enjoyed spending time with me. At the time, that felt like enough.

One evening Brittany knocked on my dorm room door looking distraught. I had never seen her like that before. She looked like she was in pain and had been crying.

“Can I come in?” She didn’t wait for me to answer and just stepped inside.

“What happened?” I asked.

She pulled out her phone and shoved it into my hands. “Look at his Facebook,” she huffed.

I started scrolling her boyfriend’s Facebook timeline. He posted frequently and I noticed the same person making comments in most of them. None of the comments were particularly interesting. Most of it was casual and references to things that meant nothing to me. Without any additional context, everything looked normal. I could have chosen to defend her boyfriend, and if I was back home I probably would have. But why bother when I wanted to fool around with Brittany and nobody knew my backstory?

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“A few weeks,” she sniffed.

“And he talks with her a lot?”

She crossed her arms. “Enough.”

Rain tapped softly against the window. A weather alert pinged on both of our phones. Something about a flash flood warning or possibly high winds with advice to stay indoors and get to high ground. The college was safe in a high plateau area, so I knew we would be fine. I handed her phone back and cleared the weather alert on my phone.

I asked, “Do you think something’s going on?”

She sat on the edge of my bed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. He says they’re just friends.”

I laughed and shook my head, “That’s what people always say.”

A small smile appeared despite her frustration. “Exactly. He’s going over to her house tonight. Told me that it didn’t mean anything, but I know better.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with just enough sympathy to sound genuine.

Lightening flashed followed by an immediate boom of thunder. The electricity went out shortly after and the only light was from the soft glow of our cell phones.

“Damn it,” she cursed, “getting back to my dorm will be difficult in this storm.”

“So don’t go back,” I said.

Brittany laughed nervously. “You make that sound simple.”

“It is simple. He’s probably cheating on you. This is the perfect time to get him back.”

She was quiet. Her face had the same look every time I got her to barely cross a line.

“The weather alert said to stay indoors,” I added. “You’re being responsible by staying.”

There was another lightening flash followed by an immediate crack of thunder. “We can’t go too far,” she finally said.

I stepped towards her with a smile, “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable doing.”

She sniffed again, glanced at her phone, then at me. Her body language said she needed comfort, but her eyes said she wanted intimacy. I sat on the bed beside her. She leaned her head against my shoulder and released a slow, heavy breath.

I felt her hand find mine, soft at first, then tighter. I matched her grip and let her lead, the way I always had with her. We stayed like that, silent except for the thunder and rain. I’d always heard that rain made everything more romantic, but it just made the room feel smaller, the two of us more compressed.

I waited until she looked up at me, her face shiny with the leftover residue of tears. I kissed her then. She let me. There was a second where I thought she would pull away, but she didn’t. Her mouth was warm and a little salty from stray tears. I could feel the storm pressing against the window like the world wanted inside.

When she pulled back, she wiped at her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie. “We should stop,” she said. I heard the hesitation in her words. Perhaps she was testing my resolve, seeing if I would do the right thing. Or maybe she was uttering what she believed was expected of her. It could be that she was uncertain of her own desires. In reality, I was just as lost.

I said, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Brittany.” I did my best to sound noble, but it was hard to keep my hands from shaking. I wanted this, maybe more than anything since getting to college.

She looked at me for a while, then took off the hoodie. Beneath it she wore a plain tank top, gray, not exactly sexy, but in the moment it felt like she was the sexiest woman alive. She didn’t look at me as she pulled that off too. I tried not to stare at her chest, but I did anyway.

She was smaller than I expected, her body soft and curved in all the places I’d imagined but never seen. She crossed her arms at first, maybe to hide, maybe to brace herself, but then she relaxed and let her arms fall to her sides. I thought of all the months she must have spent feeding her boyfriend selfies, the careful way she presented herself to him, and how different this was.

All I could do was stare at her bare chest. Then my eyes wondered to a faint line of a surgical scar crossing her lower belly. I had the same scar from an appendectomy in 8th grade. My attention drifted away from the scar and toward her breasts. As I started to rub them, she kissed me suddenly and hard.

I felt her hands, cold but determined, at the hem of my t-shirt. She pulled it up over my head, causing us to break the kiss. As soon as my shirt was free from my body she kissed me harder than last time. I felt her fingers moving, awkward and unpracticed, down the fly of my jeans. I heard the click of the snap and the slow, tender scratch of the zipper.

She didn’t say anything but I saw her cheeks flush darker, not quite embarrassment, more like determination. I helped her, standing up and stepping out of the jeans when she tugged, feeling weirdly exposed in my neon blue boxer briefs, which were printed with a pattern of cartoon toast slices. She laughed, a small sound, and traced one of the toasts with her nail.

It felt like a dare.

We shimmied out of the rest of our clothing, and she lay on my bed naked. I almost didn’t believe I had a naked woman in my room. That would have never happened to me back home.

As I crawled on top of her she asked “Do you have a condom?”

I shook my head. “I don’t like condoms.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but I kissed her before she could. After the kiss broke I said “We don’t need a condom. I’m disease free.”

She flinched a little at first, then went quiet, so I kept kissing her, pushing my tongue into her mouth and letting my hands rake down her sides. The condoms in the communal bathroom vending machine were a hundred yards away and I was not about to risk the spell breaking. Even as she tensed, even as her hand fluttered against my arm in a way that could have been a warning or just nerves, I lined myself up and pressed against her, slow and cautious.

Her breath caught when I pressed inside. Not a moan or a gasp, but like someone had punched the air out of her. I took that as encouragement and pushed deeper, feeling her tense around me. Every muscle in her arms and legs became rigid. I noticed it immediately and at the time thought it was nerves. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.

After a moment she forced herself to relax around me. I set a rhythm, slow at first, my face buried in her neck so I wouldn’t have to see the expression she was making. She clung to me with a grip that felt desperate. Her hands ran up my back, nails digging in, and I let myself believe she was as hungry for this as I was.

She had said we shouldn’t go too far, but by then stopping felt harder than continuing. I told myself if she really wanted me to stop, she would have pushed me off. I told myself this as I thrust, as I stifled her muffled whimpers with kisses. The raw friction was almost too much, my body trembling from the sensation, the tension of months of wanting her spilling out all at once.

I closed my eyes. Somehow, that made it easier to avoid seeing the complicated mess of what we were doing. I just kept moving, a piston, a machine, uncoiling months of want. I didn’t say anything, didn’t dirty it with words, but I could feel the difference in her grip, in the way she half-gave and half-resisted. I don’t know if I wanted her to beg me to stop, or if I was terrified that she actually would.

I felt myself getting closer and closer. I pressed my lips against hers and came hard inside. The feeling was pure and electric, buzzing along my whole body, a silent surrender. Afterward, I rolled to the side, sweat prickling on my body, and she turned away from me.

For a while neither of us spoke. The storm was already moving away from campus. The thunder had become distant, little more than a low rumble somewhere beyond the hills. A few minutes later the lights came back on.

Neither of us reacted. I remember staring at the ceiling and feeling strangely disappointed. For months I had imagined getting Brittany into my bed. Now she was there, lying three feet away, and neither of us seemed to know what to say.

Eventually she reached for her clothes. I watched her silently get dressed and for the first time in months couldn’t read the look on her face. I could have asked, but I was too afraid of what the answer might be. A few minutes later Brittany left. That was the last time I saw her in person.

Years later we reconnected on Facebook.

Both of us have spouses, children, and good lives now. We make small talk from time to time.

We never mention our freshman year.

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[sinfulwords]

This noncon is suuuuuuper realistic and probably hits close to home for most women….idk if that makes it harder to read or more alluring for myself my brain is confused there but that’s an issue for a psychologist to decipher, not you

your writing is excellent, cause u wrote this piece very well. The descriptions are all very concise yet vivid, you flawlessly convey the nameless narrators thoughts and feelings, from his frustration about being rejected (how it would ruin his week by means of comparison), to how his longstanding desire is what drove him to ignore all the signs that implied Brittany was NOT enthusiastic about having sex….especially that no-condom business. Shame on narrator-dude for that one

Overall it read like an indie film, showcasing the harsh realities of the directly post high-school sex experience 10/10 for writing and sheer graphic realism

[Shocker]

It’s a good story, tackling a realistic scenario very well. Especially that they stayed in contact is surprising.

[RapeU]

This noncon is suuuuuuper realistic and probably hits close to home for most women….idk if that makes it harder to read or more alluring for myself my brain is confused there but that’s an issue for a psychologist to decipher, not you

Understandable. I tend to avoid looking at porn videos that are teacher/student themed since I am a teacher and do not want to cross that line in real life. I will say though that this story is based on a real relationship I had in college. Though, "Brittney" and I only went as far as making out.

especially that no-condom business. Shame on narrator-dude for that one

I got the condom idea from Anne Rice's novel The Tale of the Body Thief. I've actually used it before in a different story, but I think it works better here.

Especially that they stayed in contact is surprising.

To clarify, they didn't stay in contact. They reconnected through Facebook years later. Awkwardly.

[sinfulwords]

@RapeU

That’s tight you’re a teacher you’re doing the lords work out here I could never do what u do

Thats LEGIT u drew from real life experience with this piece. Perhaps that’s why it felt so realistic

And not Anne rice I’m a basic b when it comes to her body of work, I’ve actually only read the vampire chronicles

But I agree the no condom thing works in this story, and in my opinion it only further added to the realism