“Fuck that. There’s no way, no way you’d find me doing that. Are you feeling alright? There’s just no way I could devote the rest of my life to getting fucked by the same cock. I mean one cock, one fucking cock for the rest of your life? No fucking way”.
“But he’s sweet, and a high-ranking member of the Knight’s of the holy kingdom”.
“The what? What the fuck? Who cares that he’s so high up? You, obviously. You’ve only known him for two weeks, and you’re getting married to the cunt”.
“Don’t call him that. He’s lovely”
“He’s fucking with your head. Typical fucking religious nutter. Ah, I know why you’re getting married so early. You want your first taste of cock don’t you? I know you’re a virgin. If you’d have had cock I’d have been the first one you’d tell. I mean I’ve only known you for 16 years, and you are my best friend Linda, but for fuck’s-sake think about what you’re doing, getting involved with some balloon you hardly know. I mean who the fuck these days waits to get married before they have sex? What if he can’t get it up? What if it’s only three inches?” Linda stood up, her face trying to withhold her brewing emotional turmoil which was approaching tears, so before they came, she decided she would no longer stay with Catherine Fischer, two years older than her twenty years.
“I love him Cath. I really love him. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with him. You’ll see that love conquers lust. You’ll see”.
“Love conquers lust. Is that what your religious psycho has told you? Don’t get brainwashed Linda. You may be thick and naïve, but I don’t want to see you get hurt. Especially not to some limp-dicked priest”. Linda Marsh turned and stormed away, Catherine shaking her head at her as she left the college library.
‘Marriage’, she muttered. ‘Not for me’. Catherine and Linda were students of Art and design in London, neither of them clear as yet as to what they wanted to do with their lives. They were content with simply living off their grants.
Catherine usually wore clothes more akin to males than women. Her hair was fairly short, but she did not look masculine, and the clothes were bought in the women’s clothing sections, but men were mostly the focus of her attention. She had other friends who were of similar persuasion, knowing they could use their femininity to wrap slavering men whose cocks did their thinking for them around their little fingers and have them literally begging. Yet Catherine took things further. She loved men. Or more precisely, cock.
In the five years she had been having sex, she had had 83 different men, of all persuasions and creeds, and she showed no signs of stopping. Husbands and boyfriends to her meant being restricted, tied down to one person. She wondered if that was natural. Why does the other half get upset when the other has an affair? or looks at another person sexually? Surely it was human instinct, and suddenly it was expected to stop and all carnal focus to be on them when they became an item. What was marriage anyway? Catherine thought, a declaration to friends and family of their love for each other, a gold ring on the finger, and some privileges at the bank. That was it as far as she was concerned. It was pointless. I’m not getting tied down. Fuck that. I’m not prepared to spend the rest of my life having sex with the same person for the rest of my days.
It was the same she thought with simple boy/girlfriend relationships. What was a date other than in interview? an interview by the woman as to whether or not she was going to allow him ‘in’. It was simply a ‘getting to know you’ activity in which ice was melted, the further implications of which was ‘OK, I now know you well enough to let you have sex with me, but do I want to spend the rest of my life with you? Do I want to spend a substantial amount of time as a girlfriend? Will he focus all his sexual activity on me?’ and ‘What will I do if he doesn’t?’
She had only ever been on one date, and had one boyfriend for three weeks, until she realised he wasn’t satisfying her, so found fulfilment elsewhere, leaving her other half crying in a gymnasium car-park. From then on, it was penis city, cock valley. The most men she had had at once was six, and she was giving serious consideration to going into porn. The thought of somebody somewhere watching her and masturbating turned her on.
She didn’t care for the men’s feelings. All she wanted was sexual contentment, and most men she had been with had given her that. Some were losers, others were worth seeing again. It didn’t bother her who the man was, she cared more for his genitalia. As she sometimes said to her other friends: ‘I don’t give a fuck who it’s attached to, just give me the dick’.
She always carried with her a little note-pad full of phone numbers of men she could call if she was feeling particularly horny, men she ranked on a scale of one to ten. For now though, it stayed in her pocket, she had a class to attend in five minutes, and the library was fairly empty, the students that were in there were all on the computers, so Catherine stood, picked up her off-white faux fur bag and went to her printing class.
Jason Paige was tall. 6feet 7inches. His figure was rather lithe and bony. He never wore anything that could be deemed fashionable. Most of his clothes came straight from charity shops. His hair hung below his shoulders, and his beard was not designed on purpose, but simply rather had not been shaved in weeks.
He approached Linda who was sat snivelling on a bench in a small field behind the science and technology wing of the campus. She was slightly taller than Catherine, had straight dull blonde hair and never wore anything too suggestive. Most of the time her attire could be described as dowdy, but she was not unattractive. If she was to put herself up on a ‘rate me’ site on the internet, she could easily score a seven out of ten, Catherine an eight.
“Hey,” he said, “What’s wrong?” He sat and put his arm around her. She rested her head against his chest.
“Oh, it’s just Catherine again”. She felt his chest exhale.
“What’s she been saying now? I’ve told you about her. She’s a bad influence. I don’t want her at our wedding. She’s nasty. She is exactly the type of person who needs to be saved. I’m not sure whether she is too far gone, but either way, the only time I want you speaking to her is to tell her the way, the truth. If she doesn’t accept, then it’ll be time for you and her to separate. You know that you’re the only one for me. My little cherub”. She looked up, and they both smiled at each other.
Chart music pumped from the speakers, and the dancefloor was fairly full with revellers dancing and jumping and shouting. ‘Sonic boom’ was a student bar and disco just off the campus. It wasn’t exactly the trendiest of places, or the cleanest. It simply became like a club on the weekends, and a pub the rest of the week.
Catherine was standing near the bar with her other friends who were similar to her in some ways, in that they liked men, but favoured relationships instead of sleeping around. They simply hadn’t found their Mr Perfect yet, and kept trying.
As Catherine and Jennifer Dale were talking, sipping their bottled bacardis, Jennifer nodded in the direction of a group of three youths.
“Don’t turn round” she said, “but one of those lads keeps looking at you”
“Is he nice?”
“Not really. A bit geeky. Oh here they go, going to the dancefloor. Trying to impress the gals”. The trio started to dance awkwardly, all elbows and nodding heads and angled feet. Catherine looked over.
“Which one?” she asked. It was answered for her by one of them smiling across, then looking away. It was clear that he was the one trying the hardest to dance, similar to a bird of paradise mating ritual, hoping the female would be impressed enough have his babies.
In an act of bravery, spurred on by his friends, he broke away and danced closer to Catherine.
“Here comes loverboy, I’ll see you later” said Jennifer, turning and walking away with the others. Catherine turned to face him, and the youth danced and jived his way across, making his intentions perfectly clear, his wide grinning face tinged red with embarrassment. It seemed as though this was his first attempt at chatting-up, and the fact that he didn’t want to be seen as a failure in front of his friends made him say:
“What’s that you’re drinking?” He was smaller than Catherine, and looked to be younger by maybe two years. He wore a stud in one ear, and had short curly gelled back hair.
Catherine smiled at him.
“It doesn’t matter what I’m drinking,” she said. “Let’s just go back to my place and shag”. The youth’s face became surprised. It was clear he wasn’t expecting that. He looked back at his friends as if to say: ‘What do I do now?’ but they were dancing away, hidden by other revellers. Catherine grabbed his hand and led him out of the club, fear surging through him more so than that which he felt in approaching her.
Catherine never went in for chatting up. She knew it was like going on a date, but was a faster method of ‘getting to know you’. All chatting up was, was an interrogation, a sizing-up. A mini interview before the inevitable reason behind it in the first place. The sex. She never understood why men bothered to ask questions. It was clear from their very approach that they wanted sex. ‘What’s your name?’
‘So what do you do?’ and other sizing-up questions meant nothing to her. If the woman being chatted up was to say: ‘Yes I like you very much. I want to get to know you and spend a lot of time with you, but I never, ever want sex’, then all the woman would see was a cloud of dust as the man vanished. Chatting up to Catherine was simply a declaration of saying they wanted sex. Questions seemed irrelevant.
She wished men would come up to her and simply say: ‘Hi, fancy a shag?’ and forget the formalities. That part could be done later, or the morning after.
In her small bedsit that passed for student accommodation, Timothy Ryan sat drinking a glass of lemonade. Catherine sat opposite. Between them was a threadbare cottage flatweave rug that has had many a student walk on it. Silence filled the room, except when Timothy sipped his drink. She had decided to see if there was any type of masculinity in him. Would he make any sort of moves? Would he continue from his confident approach at the bar? Or was it all a big act to try and impress her? Now that he was where he intended to be by trying to chat her up, she wondered if he had it in him to follow it through. It seemed clear that while Timothy thought he was a macho-stud in his mind, he couldn’t prove it in reality. Too much bedroom martial arts and mirror bicep flexing. When it came to performance out in the real world, he was in the lower leagues.
Catherine could see it in his face that he was terrified, and she guessed that if she didn’t do anything then they would be sat here all night, so she simply opened her legs, even though she was wearing jeans. Timothy’s eyes strayed to her crotch and he grew even more scarlet. She then stood up and slowly made her way across, one hand squeezing her left breast.
“Ok big boy,” she said, “Let see whatcha got”. She then sat on his left thigh, over his crotch, swinging her right leg over the arm of the chair and grinding herself into him in a circular motion, all the time smiling at him. She put her hand under her shirt to fondle the flesh of her breast.
“So you wanna fuck me” she said as a statement. His face was petrified, even though he tried to hide it. She slid off him onto her knees and parted his thighs, then began to undo his belt and unzip his bootcut trousers. He gave an audible intake of breath as she slid her hand inside and found his genitals. She was quickly reminded of two peas and an acorn, and knew then that sex with this youth would be an ordeal rather than a pleasure.
“I’m gonna be late,” he said, rather loudly. “Dad’ll wonder where I am”. Catherine sat back. Timothy stood up, and without bothering to fix his trousers headed for the exit.
“Thanks for the drink” he said, and left, the door clicking closed behind him.
“Poor thing” she said. The next time he sees his friends, they’ll ask how it went, and she knew pretty much what he would say: ‘I well had ‘er’. ‘She was begging for it, screaming’. ‘We did it six times’ ‘She couldn’t get enough of me’. She could also imagine the faces of his friends, all wide-eyed and nodding as he relayed what he wanted them to believe, and they would believe him one hundred percent, rising their esteem of him.
Catherine sighed, sat on the armchair, found the television remote control, switched it on, and watched ‘Place your roulette bet’ on a freeview channel for half an hour before falling asleep.
“Seriously Cath, you need to settle down, find yourself a good man, like I have” said Linda. They were both sat in the lecture theatre, with several others who had got there early. It was five minutes before it was due to start. They were sat next near the back.
“There are so many cocks out there, Lind, and only one me. So no, I can’t settle down”
“Do you know what love is?”
“I think you know what I love, and I still can’t believe your going for the no sex before marriage thing”.
“Is there no-one? No-one at all that you could settle down with?”.
Catherine thought about it for a few moments, one foot up on the back of the empty seat in front.
“Well, if there was one, I suppose it was this guy I got off with in Blackpool two years ago. Nice build, short hair, made me laugh, good sex, fairly big dick. If there was one, I suppose I would choose him”.
“You see,” said Linda, “You are capable of love”. The lecturer then walked in.
Linda and Jason hugged on the pavement outside the music wing of the campus where they had agreed to meet earlier. There was a nearby café and they both ordered herbal tea.
“You said you had something to tell me” said Linda. Jason could barely contain his excitement.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve decided become a full devotee, and I want you to join me. It means giving up everything, and I mean everything to follow my beliefs. I’m going to get myself castrated, so I’ll have no temptations. It will be pure devotion. I will be a high priest, and you will be my bride”.
“Castrated” she said. “Does that mean we can’t have kids?”
“Children?” he said, surprised. “We cannot afford such distractions, so I would like you to undergo a procedure that you can’t get at the hospital, but a few priests I know can carry it out. If you did it, you would make me so proud. I want you get yourself, well, sewn up, if you know what I mean. There’ll be no temptation for either of us”.
“So let me get this right” she said. “You’re going to devote yourself to worshipping God. You’re going to get yourself castrated, and you basically want me to do the same, and live with you as your wife”. He nodded, smiling. Linda simply took a sip of her tea.
“I wasn’t sure high priests could marry,” she said.
“Any member of the knights of the holy kingdom can marry. It’s not that restrictive. What do you say? Will you do it? Get the operation and be my wife?”. She drank the rest of her tea, placed the cup on the saucer, then smiled at Jason, but there was nothing behind it.
“You can go and fuck yourself” she said, standing up and walking away.
Catherine was in her bedsit, halfway through getting ready to go out with her friends ‘on the pull’ when there was a loud banging on the door.
“Catherine,” came a voice, “Open the door”. She frowned, slipped on a pink bathrobe, and walked through, opening the door. Linda stood there in tears. She walked in.
“Linda what’s wrong?” she said, closing the door.
“It’s Jason,” she said. Catherine nodded to herself, not surprised in the slightest.
“…so I told him to go and fuck himself” Linda said, sat next to Catherine on the bed.
“Besides,” she continued, “I think I’ve been in denial about something. I mean I like men and all that, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to do”. She placed her hand on Catherine’s thigh. They both smiled at each other. Catherine responded eagerly, their lips meeting, their tongues writhing together, their hands exploring each other.