The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Over the next several days the housemates were in a giddy limbo. They bounced back and forth between the exhausting rigors of registration and re-affirming past ties during the calm before classes began. Each of them, even the pointedly nonchalant Ian, was feeling the freedom and self-ownership of living off campus for the first time. It is uncertain who first broached the idea of a house party, but it was sufficiently accepted by all as inevitability- both as a housewarming and a declaration of arrival. Soon the word was being tossed out, even to barely-known acquaintances, and then second-hand to complete strangers. Upperclassmen were enlisted to assist with the kegs (none of the housemates had quite reached their twenty-first year, though it was close), and Ian was on hand to connect with even more shady substances, should the guests desire. On the final Friday before the Monday start of classes, the party was held.

The thickest of the humidity had let up but it was still thoroughly warm and stuffy. Though dark clouds threatened the horizons daily, no lasting storm had yet materialized. Hazy afternoon began to turn into evening, the guests started arriving, and pretty soon the house and grounds were spotted with groups of laughing, drinking students. Heather was running around, trying to keep everyone aware of the rules (whatever they were). Min resembled a hummingbird, hovering and flitting, breathlessly welcoming friends and strangers alike. Ian would disappear with small, selected groups for some time into his bedroom; the only bathroom in the house was just down the hall, and few passers-by failed to understand the meaning of the pungent aroma faintly emanating from the cracks around his closed door.

Caitlin was strangely unmoved by the increasing crowd and noise, neither fully in the mood to party nor in any way bothered by it. She’d been having difficulty sleeping since she’d moved in. She wrote it off as a combination of unfamiliarity with her surroundings and the oppressive heat, which made the nights feverish even with a big oscillating fan blasting straight toward her bed. At the end of every day, she fell asleep quickly from exhaustion, only to wake up a few times before dawn clammy with sweat. She was dimly aware of dreams which left her with an uncanny feeling- not quite fearful, but definitely unsettling. True, the old house had its share of unexpected creaks and taps, but nothing to cause a steady-minded girl like Caitlin more than a moment’s nervousness.

What was more immediate to her mind was the habit Ian had of dressing in as little as possible. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him actually wearing a shirt. Caitlin had never seriously considered Ian a target of affection- he was much too irresponsible and casually promiscuous for her. Still, she found excuses to be around him, dragging her notebook out to the porch to write while he worked on his car or played hacky-sack on the front lawn. Her writing was reflecting this awakened interest. She found herself adding more sensual turns of phrase and shocked herself when she jotted down a detailed erotic scene. She discovered guiltily that if she masturbated at night, she could sleep easier...and her hushed orgasms were fueled best by recollections of Ian’s sweat-shiny image.

So it was against her better judgment, and to Ian’s cool surprise, that she found herself with her lips around the bong that was being passed around in his room during the early hours of the party. She was not a total stranger to weed, but it definitely wasn’t something she made a habit of doing around strangers. She was enjoying it, to be sure- she had some trouble halting her giggles- but she was also reproaching herself for letting an infatuation so easily influence her decisions. And she was definitely disappointed when Ian stood up and announced he was going to circulate outside among the crowd. She sat on the edge of his bed, watching the other smokers exit, and groped for a way to prolong the contact.

“Uh...what is this music, Ian? It’s so cool,” was her best attempt.

“You like this? It’s some trippy Canadian band my friend taped for me. The Black Emperors or something.”

“Mmm, it’s floaty...but intense.”

“Yeah, I sleep with it on, sometimes. Hey, you can chill out and listen if you want,” he said, glancing out the door.

“Oh...okay. Maybe.”

“Catch ya in a few.” He smiled at her and disappeared.

The house had become packed to overflowing as night settled in. Just getting from his room to the back door took careful maneuvering. Luckily Ian found someone he knew every few feet or so, and a girl he’d like to get to know just as often. He was feeling especially horny, even more so than usual, and it had been getting worse for a few days now. His main goal for the party was to secure at least a quick lay (or more than one, if possible), and he was willing to expand his criteria to allow for a wider variety of candidates. Or, to put it bluntly, he was ready to fuck just about anything female and willing. And was it just him, or did many of the faces look promisingly willing tonight? Open displays of affection were breaking out all through the house- almost to the back door, he had to step over a couple who were passionately making out up against the hidden door to the ‘confessional’, completely oblivious to the rest of the party-goers. Ian grabbed an unopened bottle of beer and toasted them as he passed, humorously hoping that they wouldn’t break the door down with their enthusiasm.

The cooler open air and relative quiet was refreshing as he stepped out of the kitchen to the back porch. He surveyed with a curious feeling of pride that the party had spread out over the rear lawn as well. Someone was laughing hysterically to a just-finished joke, and a dreadlocked lad had produced an acoustic guitar and attracted a small ring of admirers. “Damn,” thought Ian, “that would have been a good move for me. Well, maybe next time.” He was finishing his beer when he saw Heather suddenly looming over him with a beer in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.

“Have you seen Caitlin?” she asked, her voice communicating melodramatic, slurred urgency.

“Last I saw her she was listening to music upstairs,” he said. His eyes traveled over her tight t-shirt. “Wait, Heather, hang out and have a beer with me.”

“No.” Heather exclaimed with alcoholic petulance. “Need to find Cay-ayt-linn.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Watch out for the crazy youngsters fornicating in our hallway.”

“What?” she wobbled back and forth, and took a stern but unfocused look at him. “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded.

“No, hey, chill,” he soothed.

“Good. ‘Cause if you are...” she wagged a loose finger at him, and then lost her train of thought and wandered into the house. Ian deftly snagged the cigarette out from between her fingers as she passed.

“Thank you for the ice-breaker, Heather,” he said, placing it in the corner of his mouth and scanning the crowd. His eyes finally found a comely redhead cupping her hands to light a cigarette, and he ambled smiling towards her. “Hey, cool, can I get a light from you?”

Heather was happiest with a mission, and her mission was to find Caitlin. She no longer really knew why she’d set out in search of her friend, but each swallow of beer made reasons less necessary. As she picked her slow progress through the crowd, she was torn between the desire to let them know she was the boss of the house and to submit to the general youthful revelry. She yelled at a guy for spilling a beer, but made sure that she was bent low enough to for him to notice her cleavage. Not that she was ready to follow through just yet...but it was still fun to tease. She stepped over a couple who were kissing passionately. The gothy-looking girl sitting in the guy’s lap on the floor between the kitchen and the dining room. Heather briefly considered reprimanding them, but then the song on the stereo changed and she found herself dancing to a recent favorite. She considered having a cigarette, discovered she’d lost hers somewhere, shrugged, and continued dancing her way towards the stairs. Almost there, she collided with Min, who shouted happy nonsense as she bounced energetically to the beat.

Min was indeed having a wonderful night. She’d done much less drinking than most at the party but was still joyfully buzzed, and tirelessly dancing to the music. Min had a fantasy of herself as a DJ in a trendy nightclub, although she had rarely been to one, and was relishing the opportunity to pick the music that was being played...and crank the bass as far as technologically possible. She found it uniquely funny, and rewarding, to watch the mainly white female guests keep right on dancing when she switched from playing current MTV songs to the more obscure Asian pop that she knew few of them, if any, had ever heard. There was a transcendent pleasure in the complimentary sensations of being in control of the action and also being gleefully lost in the beat. She was so swept up that when Heather bumped into her, weaving in and out of the crowd, Min accidentally greeted her in Korean.

“Seen Caitlin?” Heather shouted.

“No!” Min yelled back. “Stay and dance with me, Heather!”

“Gotta find Caitlin,” Heather replied. “Be back after!”

“Poo!” Min shot back at her, grinning.

Heather tumbled up the steps with the first unmistakable sensations of an urgently full bladder. The line to the bathroom stretched almost to the top of the stairs, but she pressed herself in between the front-runner and the open door with a defiant “It’s okay, I live here!” and slammed the door behind her. She lifted her skirt and sat heavily on the pre-warmed seat (vague yuck) and dropped her chin to her hands, taking deep breaths to combat the spinning in her head. “You know better than to drink so much so quick,” she told herself. “You need to keep cool, stay in charge, handle anything that might come up.” Her piss exploded out of her in a tooth-tingling rush of relief. “Much better. Okay, what am I doing next? Looking for Caitlin.” She stood up and spent some time juggling the complexities of wiping, flushing, and pulling her skirt back into place.

She flashed a sweetly nasty smile at the disgruntled girl standing just outside the door, and stumbled down the hall to Caitlin’s room. It was empty and devoid of music, which erased the only lead that she had. Ian had said...Ian? Ian had been getting wasted all night in his room. Maybe Caitlin had wandered in there? She returned to the top of the stairs and opened Ian’s door.

Caitlin was in there, all right...as strange droning music came from the little stereo on his nightstand, she was reclined on the bed, her face buried in one of Ian’s t-shirts. One of her hands had dived under the waistband of her jeans and Heather stared shocked at the twitching mound of denim. Muffled groans came from under the t-shirt. Heather wasted no time slipping back out of the room, closing the door quickly but as quietly as possible behind her. She leaned back against the door, exhaled heavily, and began nervously laughing to herself. “Well, wow...you go, girl...”

Her mission oddly concluded, Heather was at a loss what to do next. For better or worse, her indecision was arrested by a half-known friend catching sight of her as he dashed up the stairs. “Hey, Heather!” the guy shouted. “Cops at the door!”

Her heart sank, but she sprinted like a linebacker through the crowd and down the stairs. She reminded herself that nothing really bad was going on (besides the underage drinking, sporadic drug use and likely statutory rape, that is), and she had an admirable track record of talking herself out of trouble with police officers- male officers, specifically. She felt almost ahead of the game when she found that both of the cops at the door fit that category.

“Do you live here?” said the first one, a short middle-aged man with the kind of moustache that only cops and gay men preferred. She nodded.

“Yes, sir,” she answered, but directed her attention to his partner, a much younger and taller officer. “I’m very sorry to have caused any trouble, officer.”

The younger cop actually smiled a little at her. “The music is a bit loud, don’t you think?” he asked paternally. “We’ve had a call from your neighbors.”

“You’re right, it did get a little loud,” she said. Heather quickly scanned the crowd behind her for Min, who helpfully dashed to the stereo and halved the volume. “Is that better, or should I go lower?” Heather asked, bending forward slightly.

The younger policeman rubbed his chin with one hand, and Heather glanced expertly to confirm that there was no wedding band. “Well, Miss...”

“Heather,” she offered.

“Well, Miss Heather, I’m sure you wouldn’t let anything bad go on in your house, right? ...so if you can just keep the party inside, and reasonably quiet, we won’t have any reason to come back and take a closer look. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, smiling and giving him as wide-eyed a look as possible. “Now if there was any trouble, who specifically should I call and ask for?”

“I’m sure any of our men would be able to help you, Miss Heather,” he replied. “But should you need to refer to this visit for any reason, this is Sgt. Kaplan and I am Officer Williams, okay?”

“Got it,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Officer Williams.”

“Have a good night, miss,” he said, and the two men turned and walked down the driveway into their patrol car. Heather watched the flashing red light repeatedly light up the faces of the furtively curious students who had circled it at a respectful distance. When it drove out of sight, she took several deep breaths and gave a thumbs up to Min.

When word of the police had circulated, a number of the guests had quickly departed. Most chose, as casually as possible, to saunter down the driveway to the road. The ones who had foolishly tried to run through the thickly wooded areas that encircled the yard soon found themselves tangled in underbrush, or stymied by neighbor’s fences. Ian watched the frantic exodus with mounting humor, only slightly concerned about his own illicit stockpile. The smoking redhead had given him her number, but no real indication that she planned to stay that night. He dedicated himself to keeping his eyes open for any other prospects among the reduced crowd that remained.

“Come on, come on, everyone’s got to go inside,” Heather was calling, walking briskly around the side of the house. She felt deputized. “Hey! Either leave or go inside. I’m not getting busted over this.”

A few escape routes of dubious ingenuity had presented themselves to the indoor guests. The closet on the second floor was packed with a small crowd who had tried to return to Ian’s room for another bong session but found the door locked from the inside. Their knocking had brought Caitlin out of her moist masturbatory daze, and she sat bolt upright with her heart pounding madly, tossing away the pungent t-shirt. She quickly composed herself, utterly mortified, and then sat in the darkened room with a burning face (and pussy) until the would-be stoners moved down the hall to the closet. Heather would later have a minor freak-out over small burn-holes in her canvas totebag.

Another couple, braver or more drunk than most, decided to flee into the cellar. It was cold and almost pitch black, and the thumping footsteps above kept dislodging tiny cave-ins of dust and debris. The boy was a lanky skater type and the girl was a freshman goth chick. By this point, he’d already had his hand up her shirt and she was either drunk or horny enough not to have stopped him. They huddled together near the foot of the stairs, in the small spill of light from the upstairs doorway.

“Just until the cops are gone,” the boy promised, pulling her close.

“I don’t care, it’s kinda fun down here,” she answered. She gave him a deep, wet kiss and then broke away with a giggle.

“Hey, get back here,” he called.

“If you catch me, you can have me,” she answered, and disappeared around a dark corner.

“This is not fun,” he muttered, stubbing his toe on an uneven section of floor. The t-shirt and shorts that had been sweltering above ground were now barely sufficient in the dark dank.

Her voice came from behind walls and around corners. “I’m taking off my shirt...” it teased, muffled.

“Okay, that’s more fun,” he said. He was able to see more than he’d expected, aided by shafts of light that stabbed downward through the grimy air from cracks in the floorboards above. He moved in the general direction of her voice, but still had no specific idea where to go. As he groped his way deeper into the cellar labyrinth, his hands were encountering unusual surfaces, and he tried not to think of what he might actually be touching.

“Oooh, there goes the skirt!” the muffled tease continued. He rounded a corner quietly and saw striped light falling over her pale shoulders.

“Gotcha!” he exclaimed, and grabbed her shoulders. Almost blind, they were able to find each other’s bodies with little trouble. Their tongues embraced and explored while he helped her out of her panties.

Her hand found the bulge in his shorts and squeezed. He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck and pull her breasts up and out of her bra cups. Bending down, he began to lick and suck her nipples as she unzipped and yanked down his shorts.

“Right here on the ground?” he whispered, not sure if he cared.

“I piled the clothes on this round thing,” she answered. “Broken table or something.”

“Good thinking,” he said, and resumed kissing her breasts. She sighed and pulled them both down to the small pile of clothes.

“Ow! Watch out for that hard thing in the middle,” she said, and then began to moan as his hands slid down past her stomach.

“Oh, you want something hard?” he chuckled. He dragged his erect cock up and down the furry moist softness of her bare crotch. She reached down with her fingers and spread her labia, arching her back to meet him.

“Yeah, I do,” she breathed.

He entered her smoothly, and she gasped. Once he felt himself in position, he began to thrust himself hard against her.

“Whoa...ooh...not so fast,” she giggled. “No rush.”

“Hey, is this thing stable?” he asked breathlessly, feeling the wood under him shift with his thrusts. He didn’t stop, but merely slowed down slightly to please her and await an answer.

“Everything’s...uh...moving for me, baby,” she said with a gasping smile.

There was an almost imperceptible splintering sound.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” he panted.

“Already?” she said, disappointed. She was about to try to slow him down somehow when the cistern-cover they’d been laying on gave way with a tearing crack. There were a few panicked moments of struggling for a handhold, and then the two naked bodies, and their castoff clothes, hurtled down the uncovered opening.

The boy lay motionless for several minutes, the wind knocked out of him. About the same time he was able to speak, he felt the girl next him stirring as well.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

“No, I hit my fucking head on some steps or something. I think my nose is bleeding.”

“I can’t see...here, this is my t-shirt. Use it to stop the bleeding.”

“How far down did we fall?”

“I don’t know, it felt like forever for a second there. Must be a well or something?”

“Does it sound like we’re in a well?” she snapped, and began to yell. “Hello? Hello? Hear those echoes? Sounds pretty big down here to me.”

“Well if there’s steps, we can get back up, anyway,” he said, and stood up. “Uhh. At least nothing’s broken.”

“Shh...what’s that?”

They both paused. Far away, it seemed, the boy could hear the soft thud of the bass in the party that went on in the house above. There was something else, though, a rustling like dried leaves scuttling across a frozen pond.

Hurriedly the girl found her scattered clothes and threw them on. The boy was feeling around for the foot of the stairwell but encountered only smooth, cold stone floor. The rustling began to resemble whispered voices.

“Too freaky for me,” she hissed. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m trying, I can’t find the steps.”

The girl heard the whispering increase in volume (though strangely it seemed no nearer), and to her horror she could actually make out individual words and voices. It sounded like an auditorium full of people in the dark, murmuring to each other before the orchestra begins.

Then she felt the hands.

At first the touch seemed icy cold, and she was about to scream...but the coldness invaded her quickly, making her feel slow and sleepy and oddly comfortable. She took a deep luxurious breath as the coolness penetrating her met in the middle, her middle, and blossomed into a lovely crystalline orgasm. She held her breath, feeling exquisitely brittle, on the verge of shattering. The voices were giving her an unexpected welcome, and veiled hints of mysterious gifts. They asked her about the boy she was with, and she answered wordlessly she barely knew him.

“Then you do not mind if we take him?” they asked her. The question was a mere formality; she was made to understand that she’d enjoy what was being prepared, and that it would happen no matter what her answer was.

“Hey, you still there?” squeaked the boy, his mounting anxiety revealed. “I can’t find the steps. Help me.”

“Okay,” they said through her lips. She leaned back from her body and watched the scene with languid desire. Her eyes no longer needed light; she and the others watched from above while her body sent back all sensation. She still felt the cold stone under her bare feet, more distantly and yet more deliciously than usual. She also felt the countless caresses of the others, exploring her newcomer essence with exquisite probing wisps of pleasure.

“Do you know which way we came down?” the boy spoke shakily. “I can’t get my sense of direction in the dark.”

She laughed with the others when she saw his grime-streaked face, pale with fear, turn towards where he thought she was. Her body had moved behind him, and caused him to yelp with quick terror when her hands touched his bare back.

“Smooth,” they said under her breath. “Flesh.”

“We don’t have to leave so quickly, do we?” her voice purred. The others persuaded her to share their appreciation of the way the blood dripped slowly down her face and chin. Her white hands stroked his back and her body pressed up against him, her hard nipples rubbing lusciously across his goose-pimpled skin.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just want to get out of here. I’m creeped out, okay? I’m not a goth freak like you.”

“No, stay,” her mouth whispered. “I promise you will love it.”

Her cooling arms wrapped around him and firmly turned him to face her. She and the others chuckled as his eyes tried to find her in the darkness. Her hands slowly slid up his arms, over his shoulders, and up his neck. Irresistibly, they fastened around the sides of his face and pulled him to her. Her lips were parted and her tongue was made to extend.

“Hey...come on, at least let’s take it upstairs,” he said in a lower voice, feeling his cock get hard in defiance of fear and discomfort.

She moaned in approval with the others as her blood-covered lips and tongue covered his mouth with deep kisses.

“You’re so cold,” he gasped, when she leaned back.

“Try to warm me up,” her lips said. Her hands reached down to stroke his cock. He gasped again, feeling her cold touch.

She writhed, insubstantially, as the others poured all of their knowledge and experience into her animated body. An invisible courtesan made her mouth do amazing things to his erection, while a gaslight lesbian donated her skills to the clitoris in a mind-shattering display of finger technique. Her body’s icy orgasms broadcast back to her numerous times while the mouth continued sucking the boy’s cock. All the others’ skills were barely able to keep the boy from cumming long enough to get him to lie backwards on the stone.

The others gave her probationary leave to direct the body. She earned their pleasure by positioning it over his throbbing cock and impaling herself on it in one smooth drop. The boy cried out as if he’d been kicked, but her gyrations (the contribution of an exotic dancer from bygone days) coaxed him back to pleasure...and then beyond, into the echoing groans and jerky twitches of ecstasy.

“Could it be this good if I was still in there?” she wondered, silently and thankfully.

“Never,” replied hundreds of orgasming moans.

“What?” the boy said, suddenly stock still. Her cold hands leapt to caress his face.

“Shh...” her dead lips said. “Let them come into you.”

The boy suddenly, horribly, regretted giving in to her touch. But the feeling faded, replaced by a growing numbness so unlike his usual sweaty post-sex lethargy. Her chilly flesh snuggled into his arms as the whispers rose to a deafening chorus of approval. The boy let his heavy eyelids close, and then was looking down from a great height to discover his cock was erect again.

“Yes,” they told him, his dead lover’s voice among the loudest of the urgent whispers. “Again, while the flesh is still warm.”

Caitlin crouched in the darkness on the edge of Ian’s bed, waiting for her pounding heart to subside. Once she’d mastered her panic and shame, she got up and moved quickly out of the room. The house was even more packed than she’d remembered it, and she moved downstairs between the hot bodies of the party guests with irritating slowness.

“Min, it is so packed in here!” she shouted to her friend, who was setting up the next track on the turntable.

“Heather’s moving everyone inside,” Min shouted back. “The cops were here!”

“What?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you...Is everything okay now?”

“No! I had to turn down the music!”

Caitlin laughed, relieved. “This is down?”

Somewhere between midnight and daybreak all four housemates found themselves together in the dining room. Min had finally admitted fatigue and the stereo was now producing loose, ambient music at only slightly higher-than-normal decibels. Small clusters of die-hards could be found around the house, still nursing warming beers and talking with slurred AM voices.

Ian was in a reflective mood, tending to cynicism. Forced to concede defeat in his search for a quickie, he was waxing philosophical while he rolled a series of lumpy joints in his lap. On the couch next to him, Min was happily cuddled up with her head in Caitlin’s lap, her eyes closed but making the occasional lucid comment. Caitlin was only half listening to Ian’s stoned musings, and half trying to forget her startling indiscretion in his room. Heather had almost forgotten the scene completely, retaining only the faint impression that she’d caught one of her roommates doing something embarrassing (she tended to suspect Min). She was feeling a second wind, still drunk but feverishly animated as she scooped up plastic cups and glass bottles into a black garbage bag.

“How much you wanna bet that nice young cop finds a reason to come back?” she asked.

“Eww, you like that type?” Min gagged. “Maybe he’ll take you deer hunting with him.”

“Oh, he was a redneck?” asked Caitlin, and then remembered she didn’t want to remind anyone of her earlier absence.

“No, just big and wholesome,” Heather laughed. “Probably nice and dumb, too. Too bad cops don’t make enough!”

“What, you prefer dumb rich guys?” Ian said. “No wonder you hate me.”

“Oh, Ian, I don’t hate you,” Heather said sweetly, verifying the emptiness of a crumpled cigarette pack before throwing it in the bag. “I think you’ll be forced to give the right woman a decent settlement someday.”

“What does that mean?” Min whispered to Caitlin, who shook her head and continued to fiddle absently with Min’s bouncy ponytails.

“Hey, no sleep-overs!” warned Heather. Caitlin looked over. Heather had opened the door to the ‘confessional’, and a very flushed and disoriented-looking blonde girl tumbled out.

“Wow,” the girl said, trying to keep her balance on unsteady feet. “Uh...sorry.”

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” Heather sang, urging the girl towards the door. Caitlin was about to laugh, but there was a strange light in the unknown girl’s eyes that reminded her of something- something from a dream, maybe? Something wild and hungry.

“Anybody know her?” Caitlin asked around, after the girl had left.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her around campus,” said Ian. “I kinda figured she was a lesbo.”

“Why?” said Min, her eyes opening. “Why would you think that?”

“Hey, nothing wrong with it,” said Ian. “I’m just saying, something about her just says lesbian to me.”

“Is any girl who won’t sleep with you a lesbian?” Heather asked.

“If that’s the case, what does that make you?” he replied.

“Or any of the rest of us,” Heather shot back. Min and Caitlin both chuckled. “You should be careful, Ian...living with all us girls may just get you in touch with your own feminine side.”

“Hey, I’m an open-minded guy,” Ian defended, lighting a finished joint. He offered it around, but none of the girls were interested. “I’m not saying I think any the worse of her for being a lez, but I think she probably is. Trust me, I can tell. Like how I know that none of you are.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Heather laughed. “All three of us could be maniac carpet-lickers and you’d never suspect it. You’d jerk off thinking about it, but you’d never suspect it.”

“Okay, prove me wrong,” he said, good-naturedly. “No joking, no bullshit, tell me the truth, right now. Who here has had a lesbian experience?”

“Okay,” Heather said. “Once in high school, on a dare, I got really drunk at a party and made out with my best friend to win a bet. The only thing I felt was twenty bucks richer. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“Okay, that’s...kinda hot, I guess,” he laughed. “Caitlin, what about you?”

“Nope,” she answered with a smile. “Although I think it would make my mother happy if I became a lesbian. She doesn’t seem to think a straight white middle-class girl like me has enough edge to compete as a writer. This is the woman who gave me a copy of ‘Howl’ for my sixteenth birthday.”

“That’s cool...ish,” said Ian. “Min? Any steamy dyke stories? Your roommates are boring the hell out of me.”

Min kept her eyes shut and made an exaggerated snoring noise.

“Fine. I hope you all know that statistically, you’re in the minority,” Ian said, stubbing out his roach.

“Whose statistics are those?” Heather asked. “Penthouse Forum’s?”

“How about you, Ian?” spoke up Min, her eyes still shut. “You ever, you know, sampled the ballpark franks? Maybe popped a boner in the shower during gym class? Is that long pretty hair of yours really just a rebellious thing?”

“That’s just not cool,” Ian muttered. “I mean, not that it’s wrong or anything, just not my thing.”

“How sad for Ian,” Heather mourned, dropping some paper towels on a puddle of beer in the hallway. “To be stuck in a house with three beautiful women who he has no chance with. And even with the house packed with ripe young college girls all night, you still ended up alone trying to cook up lesbian fantasies with us. No wonder your showers are so short- they’re all cold!”