Chapter One

My teachers love giving me too much work to handle. Most students, except for the zealous and hardworking tend to ignore it, but I'm not one of those students. My family expects good grades, my friends see me as smart, and the only way to hold up that particular illusion is keep on top of everything whenever I can.

I'm in the library right now, working on my science essay, already thinking about the other essays I want to do, along with the little reward I'm going to give myself later just before I go to bed – which will either be a quick surf on Pornhub, or a quick delve into my imagination to tackle my favorite fantasies regarding three college men who seem to hit me in just the right spot.

Speaking of those college men, I bite my lip when all three of them come in at once, grabbing a seat on a table that's not so far from my spot. They take notebooks out of their bags, ready to work.

Instantly, my senses rev to high alert, and I chew on the lid of my pen as my attention to my essay dwindles, and the focus on them increases.

One is Peter Lawson. He's big, bulky and blond, exactly the kind of guy you see playing football. He always has a confident smile to his face, and not the kind that makes you want to bitch slap them into next week. Then there's Dennis Caltruck, who for all intents and purposes, is the complete opposite of Peter. He has light brown hair, dark eyes, and is slender and willowy in comparison to Peter's muscle bound form. He's wearing a Pacman shirt right now, but is laughing and joking with Peter as if there's no obvious difference between them at all. Last is George Holman. Penetrating blue eyes, black hair – he looks stunning, but he's harder to read than the others. He prefers neat clothes like pinstripe shirts and pants. He's quieter than the others in this scenario, but when he talks, they instantly listen.

All of them are inexplicably friends with one another. And all of them are handsome. Small wonder I find myself getting easily distracted by them, and allowing my imagination to run amok.

I don't have the type of dreams where I imagine each of them in different scenarios, taking them to bed one by one. I imagine them all taking me at the same time. Pretty slutty, right?

Admittedly, I'm not sure where it came from, if it can even come from anything at all – this desire to endure sex like that. For a start, I suppose, I like gangbang porn. Not the kind where they just lie there and take it, but the kind where everyone's an active participant, some giving orders, sometimes even kissing each other when they're not focusing on the female. There's not so many of those types of porn where somehow four people can seem romantic, so I tend to make them up in my head.

I'm fairly certain if I even slipped a word to these three, my life would be over. If they knew what went in my mind, that I craved them to the point where I firmly place them in the constructs of my ongoing fantasies, they would flip.

George looks over for a moment, and catches me staring. I hastily avert my eyes and try to act like I'm concentrating on my work. After a moment, he focuses back on his friends, and I exhale a sigh of relief.

I'm not doing any favors for myself like this. Either I'm going to get my essay written during the rest of my study period, or I'm going to drool incessantly over the three men I've commandeered for my best sexual fantasies.

I get up, and clang up the spiral staircase in the university library, to find a corner to hide myself in so I can get my essay done.

It's not easy, because my mind keeps drifting back to the men, sometimes leaving me half frozen in the middle of a sentence. My teacher insists on doing the essay by hand, and I find it bothersome, because everything's submitted electronically these days. Not so much with my science teacher, who likes good old fashioned pen and paper.

It's annoying to have the fantasies because I do want to maintain the image of a good girl. To have everyone think I have integrity, rather than being like one of your college sluts who gets drunk at parties and then sleeps with everyone in the room. My parents still think I'm some innocent cherub who doesn't know what sex is, even at the age of eighteen. They never mentioned it to me more than past the obligaTori sex talk, and they take my not dating as a good sign that I'm concentrating on my studies, rather than popping out babies, like they believe my best friend is going to do.

It's possible, honestly. Tori Reed is kind of a slut, though I would never say it to her face.

When I make it back home later, my mom greets me as I walk through the door.

“Hey, Anna. How was your day at college?”

“Fine,” I say. “I got a lot of studying done, but they've loaded me up. I need to get more finished tonight if I want to keep on top of things.”

“Excellent, excellent. Well, I've got you some good brain food for dinner, should help you keep up your spirits!”

“Thanks, mom,” I say, smiling at my mother. She's tied her blond hair into a severe ponytail, and her blue eyes regard me as if I'm the best model daughter she could ever ask for. She likes to refer to our family unit as the Dunstan dream. My dad's at work, but he would also act equally proud.

It's a shame I'm nothing like what they think on the inside. I may not have had sex, but I'm curious about it, and I've certainly watched enough porn and read enough stories to desensitize myself to it.

Later on, when I've eaten, studied and resisted the urge to start stroking myself, although my spare hand often rested on the top of my crotch, I finally give into the desires and take a good half hour out of my studies to picture the three men in my head. I've locked my bedroom door, and I hide under the bedcovers, following wherever my imagination takes me.

I imagine Peter overpowering me, pinning me against the wall with those huge muscles of his. I imagine being thrown onto the bed and then being stripped naked, taking in George's erection in my mouth, as Dennis licks me from between my legs, and Peter caresses my breasts. I switch them around, moving my body as well to simulate being thrust into. I imagine Peter whispering dirty words into my ear, then George inside me, then Dennis. I watch Peter and George kiss, and I'm only partway through visualizing that scene when I climax, heart beating fast, groaning quietly as the wonderful feeling ripples through me.

Shame hits me as well, once I've recovered past my amorous fog of war and my urges are satisfied. I can't help these desires, but they made it so damn hard for me to think when I want to study.

At least, though, they'll stay a fantasy. None of the men need ever find out what I really think of them.

Though I've entertained the daydream of them finding out as well, of course.

I find it better in the long run to arrest my daydreams as soon as I can and release myself, so I become less inclined to do stupid things, like stalk them, or try and snip off a lock of their hair to smell or something.

So far, it's working.

I'm just not so sure how much longer it will work for.