I think we all know that one strange nerdy girl that's a little twisted, maybe even a little too insecure and bordering on scary-desperate. Like Michelle, the flute playing, band camp character from American Pie, or maybe more like Osgood, the scarf wearing, inhaler sucking character from Doctor Who. She typically mumbles sarcastic comments under her breath, dresses like she doesn't much care, almost always looks a little unhappy, and occasionally blurts out an inappropriate comment that lets you know she was thinking about something you wouldn't think she was thinking about, like maybe sex. Well that's me. One of my old college roommates called me a female version of 'Sketchy Jeff'. I've always been weird.

It's no secret that most women are more social than most men. That's typical of extroversion. It's also no secret that most women rely on feelings when making decisions, they're more empathetic. Most women are also more sensitive to the moment and less likely to think about the future. I'm not like those women. It wasn't until I met my one and only female ex-lover that I began to understand why I am different. I am an introvert. This is not a story about sexy extroverts hooking up and having meaningless sex. This is a story about how us quiet types find meaning and each other in a society where we don't fit in.

Female introverts are in the minority of all women, but I am one of the rarer sub-types, a thinker/analyzer who doesn't feel emotions the way most women do. I often feel nothing at all, but I can go to the other extreme, feeling any one of the emotions, or several at once, in a heartbeat. This usually happens without any obvious sign, but I can have my meltdowns and my moments of unconcealed exuberance, too. They just don't usually happen where others witness them.

My type can be anything from strippers to embalmers, because we just aren't sensitive to and don't care about what most people think about us. We do what we are good at and what we are interested in doing, but we are often very strange about being touched by other living people. And we are often deviant in many ways. I chose neither of those interestingly deviant career paths. I'm just a corporate office worker who doggedly chases down the sources of bad data and reconciles them, mostly in the financial realm. But like many introverts of my type, I can actually put on a variety of public faces, assuming that I have enough preparation time, so I can pass for normal when the situation calls for it, but not for very long. People who associate with me on a daily basis always discover the sketchy side of me.

In case you are wondering, I am not a lesbian. I having nothing against people getting their jollies with whomever, as long as they are consenting adults, but I am not only attracted exclusively to men, some might call my attraction to them not entirely healthy. I'm not a stalker or anything dangerous, just a little weird about them. I was crying over a breakup with a man in a secluded corner of a college library when I was discovered and comforted by a librarian who already had me pegged as an introvert from my history of visiting there. I didn't know this about myself at the time. I thought I was just a social misfit because I was weird. I didn't know that so many other people shared my personality traits.

I had just learned that my now ex-boyfriend, whom I now refer to as My Big Mistake, was cheating on me and also laughing about my weirdness to our mutual friends behind my back and talking about things that he should have been keeping private. The cheating was just a little bit hurtful, because I think I would have cheated on him under the right circumstances. But laughing at me and making fun of me crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. I confronted him about it and he admitted it. I told him it was over and he physically tried to stop me from leaving. I guess he thought everything would be okay if he appealed to my pussy instead of my brain. Unfortunately he had good reason for thinking that might work, but it didn't work this time or ever again with him. I kneed him in the balls and left him on the floor, and maybe that wasn't a good idea because I later learned that he found a way to get revenge.

The librarian was a lesbian and also an introvert who showed me some sympathy and got past my normal defenses to learn what a douche bag My Big Mistake was as I cried into the tea she served me to soothe me. She challenged me to give the other team a try and took me to her place when I agreed. She treated me very lovingly, gave my clit the first touch of human tongue, strapped on a dildo and gave me my first orgasm from penetration, coached me through licking her pussy until I returned the favor, and then became my very best friend for a while. In short, she taught me how good sex with another person was supposed to be. We never had sex again after that first time. It was a mercy fuck.

She had all the empathy a person could want, but she quickly understood my type of introversion and knew that we would be incompatible as lovers. She taught me that introversion isn't something that can be or needs to be cured because it isn't a mental disorder. She helped me on a journey of self-discovery that got me through a series of unsatisfying one-night stands with typical men and then, upon graduation from college, to a career in a new city far from home where I could get a fresh start from the reputation I had developed in college. Learning from her that it was okay to be an introvert was the key. At that gets me to the day when this story really begins, I was only five months out of college and twenty three years old and working my first career job in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

As women go, I'm far less talkative than most. I think quickly but words come to me slowly. That's why I prefer writing. My IQ is nicely above average but my EQ, my Emotional Quotient, is unfortunately below average. I'm low on empathy and I tend to over-think everything when it comes to social interactions. I miss a lot of clues that both women and men are giving off and I misread and over-analyze a lot of other ones. On top of all that, I have 'resting bitch face' so even when I am happy, it appears to most people that I am anything from pissed off to completely without feelings except for a hint of contempt or disdain. And I guess I should also mention that I have imaginary conversations with my pussy because that's kind of important to the story.

I've tried, but these traits are not things that I can actually 'work on'. They are just how I am. Fortunately in my work, this is not an issue. My intellect and diligence are highly valuable and appearing to be a 'cold fish' is actually a plus, because most people don't want to associate with me and thus don't distract me from the intense concentration that my work requires. Fortunately, being this way is how I was immune to the 'go away' signals from the guy this story is about. My association with him started just before he said, "Why are you talking to me?"

It was interesting having one of my own tactics used against me. The handsome man was clearly sending out the 'conversation not welcome' vibe, something very few men have ever done with me until after they've gotten to know me. I guess I am sufficiently attractive to not be automatically rejected by most guys. I'm reasonably slender and taller than average at 5'10". I have shoulder length chestnut brown hair, blue eyes, a face that won't launch a thousand ships, but neither will it stop any well-made clocks. Oh, and I also have what My Big Mistake called a 'fairly decent rack over a truly fuckworthy cunt'. Yeah, he was a class act. My lesbian friend told me that he was only objectifying me because he was intimidated by my intellect. I expressed doubt own when she told me that, because I didn't think a smart woman would have made such a big mistake. "Our pussies are just as stupid as their dicks. Learning when it is safe to listen to them is what our brains are for." That was the start of my conversations with my stupid pussy.

For these first five months after I got my job, I ignored the demands from my pussy to find it some cock. I had a career to secure, some sex toys, and a rich fantasy life to satisfy my sexual appetite. But I was missing a close deep friendship like I had with the librarian back in Joliet. We kept in touch through social media, but it just wasn't the same.

I would not have even known that this handsome man existed if one of my coworkers, a shallow woman named Shar whom I don't hate but who tends to talk too much during my breaks from my work, hadn't complained about my introverted behavior when she was trying to gossip with me by saying, "You're as bad as Marshall Thornton."

Oh? My interest was immediately piqued. I've learned that when an extrovert describes me that way, it usually means the other insulted person is also an introvert. In other words, there's a good chance that they are my kind of people. Someone who can better understand me. A kindred spirit. A person who appreciates a deeper level of friendship than many people are capable of. Even, a potential candidate for my 'inner circle' of friends, something Shar could never possibly achieve. "Who is Marshall Thornton, Shar?" His name did not feel unpleasant on my tongue. That was the first test he passed.

"Ah, finally a glimmer of interest in conversation from Krista. He's a hermit like you. A recluse who would spend all his time in his cubicle near the server room if his boss didn't make him come out for meetings and lunches. He sits in the far corner of the cafeteria, facing the wall. He's always got his nose in a book, just like you. You've probably never seen him because you eat your lunch here because our boss lets you get away with it."

"You're kidding me, right? His boss makes him eat lunch in the cafeteria?"

"No joke. And he's one handsome available dude, but he's hard to talk to, like you. He always seems like he's amused by how uncomfortable he's making people and like he doesn't need anyone because he's got some secret life or something. Just like you. A lot of the single women have tried to get to know him and struck out. I suppose he could be gay, but he doesn't seem to have any male friends either. You two could probably sit and ignore each other and be perfectly happy together."

I felt my spirits soar a little. I knew she was trying to insult me. It was a game with her to try to find a way under my skin. It actually made me closer to her, because she could sometimes make me smile with her feeble attempts, and that was a victory to her, because it meant that she had made me feel something. But since moving to Grand Rapids, I hadn't met any interesting men. This Marshall Thornton sounded interesting because he sounded like a potential kindred spirit. So I went to lunch in the cafeteria that very day to get a look at him. I don't have any particular anxiety about being in large rooms with lots of people. I just generally prefer the company of St. Fu, the patron saint of silence.

I got to the cafeteria early and sat where I could watch the most remote corner. A short time later, a tall handsome man who looked like maybe he was in his late twenties took his tray to the corner, sat facing the wall, and started reading a very surprising book. My pussy started telling me that I had to fuck this man and I agreed with her, if only I could find a way to make it happen. He was about 6' 3" and nicely muscular, with black hair, blue eyes, and what my mother called a 'Marlboro Man' face. Shar was also right about his unapproachability. He exuded 'Stay away!' as if it was a matter of safety for all involved. That impression intensified when he sensed my approach.

"Pardon me."

"Why are you talking to me?"

"Because I just wanted to say that I admire your taste in trashy literature and I'm very surprised to see that any other person in this company reads Jim Butcher." I showed him that I was reading the exact same book that he was, the latest installment of a series that had only been released to the public one day previously, meaning that he must have been waiting for its arrival. I had been a fan of the Harry Dresden books since I picked up the first one at the Joliet Public Library when I was still in high school. I identified with the Molly character who becomes a wizard's apprentice. I could see that he was very surprised when he recognized what I was holding.

"I'm Krista, named after a dead teacher who had the misfortune of briefly riding a space shuttle, but my mother misspelled it with a 'K' on my birth certificate." Doh! Why did I say that?

"Marshall, named after a horseback riding federal gunslinger I guess. My mother apparently also misspelled my name. Two 'l's. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm at a very interesting point in the book and I don't have much time."

"Of course. Not a problem. From one introvert to another, I fully understand. Enjoy." I turned and walked back to my lunch, hoping he at least glanced at my backside and liked what he saw. I suddenly realized that Shar and some other women were watching from another table. They seemed satisfied that I had been trounced by his personality, but I considered it a plus that he had taken the time to time to tell me about the spelling of his name and to point out that we had something else in common. I smiled as if I had won a victory.

The next day, I sat closer to the wall and facing it, but not in 'his' corner. I had to threaten Shar with bodily harm to keep her from sitting with me so I wouldn't look so pathetic. Fortunately she took me seriously enough when I said, "It's my social suicide. Don't make it also a homicide." I was reading my book when I sensed someone behind me and noticed the faint smell of woodsmoke that I had detected when talking to Marshall the previous day. I felt a thrill and knew that he was making a decision. He made the choice in my favor and stepped into view.

"Um, Hi Krista. I want to apologize if I seemed rude yesterday. I'm not used to meeting people who share my tastes in... almost anything really. Would you like to read quietly together?"

I immediately recognized this for what it was, not just an indication of interest, but also a compatibility test.

"That would be cool, Marshall. And the apology isn't necessary. I'm not that sensitive. My emotional skin is probably as thick as yours. Have a seat." The real test was keeping quiet when I had a million things I wanted to say. I really didn't get much reading done, but I pretended to as I noticed a million details about him. Everything from how many shakes of the salt shaker went into his french onion soup to how he marked his page when he finished reading and thanked me for letting him join me. And the faint smell of woodsmoke was making me cray-cray. It was almost impossible to keep from squirming as my nipples seemed to sense every fiber in contact with them and I felt my panties getting steadily more drenched.

The following day, I waited and found him sitting back in his corner but turned slightly toward where I had sat the previous day. I approached from behind him and sensed his apprehension when he detected my approach, but then he relaxed when he saw that it was me. "I can sit elsewhere if you need privacy today, Marshall. I'm only going to read."

"It's okay. Have a seat, Krista. It's a good corner for reading. More light from the window. And you seem to appreciate a need for silence."

Reading quietly together soon became our daily ritual, but it always started with a greeting and that evolved into conversing a little more each day while eating, followed by silence as we read a chapter or two. It is in the nature of introverts to hate small talk, so when it became okay to acknowledge that we had a deepening connection between us, it became okay to discuss the important kinds of topics, like about the importance of quality vs. quantity of friendships. This is a big issue for many of the less emotionally expressive introverts, because two or three deep friendships are more emotionally satisfying and less draining than the many more casual friendships that the majority of the population seems to favor. On some days, we didn't read at all because the conversation was stimulating enough. We slowly learned each other's interests this way. Very slowly.

We eventually shared a few horror stories about past relationships with extroverts, people whose need for social interaction was much stronger, and better accepted by society than our need for solitude and quiet. I learned that he had very little respect for 'typical' women, which meant extroverts and women who lacked his ability to analyze data and accept facts for what they are. Of course, he made a point of recognizing that I was exceptional. In all but a few highly specific areas of interest related to his career field, I could keep up with him intellectually and that had to seem rare to him for anyone, male or female. It was a pleasure to talk to someone whose interests were so cerebral and who talked to me as an equal.

Likewise, he learned that I had trust issues with men and believed that lying, cheating, and emotional abuse were typical male behaviors. I explained a little bit about My Big Mistake and I might have left him with the impression that I had sworn off men forever, because getting any closer seemed to stall, but he still found me worth conversing with. The problem with that was that it was becoming impossible to ignore the screams from my pussy that I was a fool for not jumping all over him so she could have her fun.

I could see that we were never going to get past our lunchtime routine unless I took the bull by the balls and risked a little rejection, something that introverts of my type seem even more unwilling than most women to do. So I learned where his cubicle was and I brought him a half dozen homemade cupcakes on Valentine's Day. I had learned of his fondness for spice cake and got a scratch recipe from the Internet. I told him that I considered him to be an exceptional man and my only Valentine. I insisted that he try one of the cupcakes right away and he complimented me profusely.

He apologized that he hadn't thought to get me anything, but I told him that I had kept half of the cupcakes at home as my present from him. Then I blurted that I was just happy to breathe in that wonderful woodsmoke smell that comes from his clothes. His jacket was hanging on a hook on the wall and I leaned over and took a big sniff of it. I'm sure that my nipples stiffened and I think that he noticed. I may have even got a little wet when I noticed that he was embarrassed. He offered me one of the cupcakes, but our conversations after that got a little more friendly and flirty in a nerdish way.

I eventually complained about how noisy my roommate is and how I saved every penny that I could spare to pay off my student loans so I could move out and live alone. This all lead up to a pivotal conversation when he noticed one day that I was in a worse than average mood. It was a darn good thing that it was my roommate and not PMS that was the cause.

"What's up? You seem distracted."

"I'm just really not looking forward to this weekend. My roomie just broke up with another boyfriend and that means she's going to be a mopey clingy mess for a while. We've been through this a few times. She's going to try to drag me out to clubs and I'm just not in the mood to play wingman.

I just wish I could get away somewhere different. I could go down to Joliet, but I'm not in the mood to get the-prodigal-daughter-returns treatment from my mother. I got enough of that at Christmas."

"Sounds like cabin fever." Well, it was the end of February and the winters in Michigan are colder and seem longer than I was used to in Illinois. Cabin fever is a good name for the desire to get away from the confinement of dreary weather. I could tell he was thinking about what to say next. He seemed to be making a difficult decision. "I might have an ironic solution. How would you like to spend the weekend in a real cabin?"

I had been wondering if he would ever ask me on a date. Dreading it was maybe a more accurate term. I would have loved to go out to dinner and have a deep conversation with him away from work, but going to a movie or a club would be worse than staying home alone. But this sounded very intriguing. The trouble is, I often freeze into analysis paralysis at new opportunities. I was kind of stunned speechless with no expression on my face. Fortunately he was shyly avoiding eye contact. I think he had things he wanted to say and was just glad that I wasn't saying no to the idea.

"It's secluded and rustic. Most women don't have the... whatever to see the beauty of it."

I noted the challenge, but I also felt a bit insulted, but I also thought maybe I shouldn't be hasty, but I still couldn't say anything. Analysis paralysis. Thinking quickly but unresponsive.

"A person could live a frugal life in a place like this and still have plenty of what matters. I would make it comfortable enough for a cozy quiet weekend. It has a wood stove for heat, propane for cooking and light, no electricity but I have a portable charger for my e-reader, terrible cell phone reception, I usually have to hike a mile to get a signal, no TV, a hand pump for well water but at least it's inside, and... a bath with path."

He had me at the word 'cozy', but finally I could speak, if only to say, "What the hell is a bath with path?"

"An outhouse in the woods... but don't worry. The bears are hibernating this time of year." He looked like he thought that maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the bears. "And I keep a foam toilet seat warm in the cabin." His nervous chuckle told me that he was really worried that the outhouse was a deal breaker and he was clearly waiting for a response.

"Uh, damn, Marshall, this is so unexpected. Give me a minute to think about this." I didn't want to appear to eager and I needed time to grind through the implications and my pussy was saying, 'Yes, you dumb bitch! This is the moment you've been waiting for!", so loudly that I was scaring myself into hesitating too long.

"Um, it's okay if you don't want to. The outhouse scares away most women."

That pissed me off! I lowered my voice to make sure nobody else heard what I said next. "Dammit, dude! Don't jump to conclusions about me just because I'm a woman. That was patronizing and insulting. A pussy is something I have, not something I am." The look of shock on his face was priceless. I had finally said the p-word and let him know that I wasn't averse to such language when I thought the situation called for it. In my opinion, we had both been a little too afraid to say anything anatomical out of fear of the corporate anti-sexual harassment climate. I needed an apology now but I was afraid to demand one, so I waited.

"I'm sorry, Krista. I stand corrected."

The perfect answer! Respectful and sincere without excuses. I raised my voice back up to normal. "I'm flattered." I could tell right away that 'flattered' was the wrong word to say. It seemed like it crushed him, so I quickly added, "And I'm very intrigued, but this place must be your me-space. I'm trying to understand why you are being so generous with it?"

"Well, one, I can tell that you really need to get away for a weekend. And two...", Marshall had a habit of listing benefits numerically when he was trying to convince me that his ideas were good, "... you've become a really good friend and I really care about your happiness. And three, I'm hoping that time away from here with you will help us get closer. I've been wanting to get closer to you since you walked away in the cafeteria after we met." He confessed the third listed item and the comment that followed it in a rush, but it was those that I most wanted to hear from him. They really heightened my awareness of how important this conversation could become.

"Marshall, I..., I just want you to know..." I struggled to find the right words and paused a little too long.

"Please don't tell me that you don't think of me that way and that you just want to be friends."

When I realized that he thought I was friendzoning him, it popped me right out of my speechlessness. "Oh, hell no, dude. I just want you to know that it will be a bumpy ride with me if you think I can be anything like a standard model girl friend. I'm very interesting in doing fun things with you. I would like to get closer to you. But I've become quite comfortable with who I am and I don't want to mislead you. You might say that I'm the kind of control freak who loathes giving up any control over her life, except for brief periods with people I find trustworthy. I don't think that I will ever live with a man full time. I can only barely tolerate living with a woman who has her own room. I need to spend so much time alone in my own space doing my own thing that any guy who wanted better would become frustrated from the lack of time and attention I would devote to him. I think I'm destined to live alone."

I was afraid I had been too negative, but he seemed quite relieved by all that I said. "Understood and... delighted actually. I live alone and I want to continue to. I don't want to be accountable for another person's happiness. I just want to have happy times with someone special while I see to my own needs and she sees to hers. Nothing you've said is off-putting. My invitation still stands. It's a great place to sit and read and that's what I usually do there for one day of the weekends I spend there. The other day is usually some sort of hard labor on things that I'm passionate about."

"Oh? And what would those things be?"

"Nothing evil, but things I would rather share with a closer friend." I liked that he had given me a goal, to learn his secrets by deserving to learn them. But the shadow of my failures with other men was still looming over me.

"You are aware that I feel trust has to be earned? That I've been burned by men and I'm likely to cut and run at the first sign of trouble?"

"I promise that I won't lay a hand on you the whole weekend, if you don't want me to."

Yes! I was secretly glad that he had qualified that. I hoped laying of hands was something that could happen and I could all but hear my pussy shouting, 'Hands! Cock! Everything!'

"Say the word and I will bring you back without argument. I won't want to be there with you if you're unhappy. I know that you have difficulty trusting men. You can trust me but I know that saying that won't help. I want to earn your trust, so I suggest you tell your roommate and someone here who you're going away with. I'm going to assume you will, so..."

... so telling me that he assumed that he would get the blame if I disappeared and that therefore I could feel safer was a bit of thoughtfulness. That intent to ease my mind really did all that was necessary, but I decided that I would comply with his request, just to throw a bone to two women who seemed to care about my happiness even though they were pain-in-the-ass extroverts who really didn't get me. The prospect of a weekend alone with him anywhere would have been enough, but the chance for all the new experiences was irresistible. So I conquered my fear of all the unknowns and said, "Marshall, it sounds exactly like what I need. Thank you so much for offering. Count me in." Now, what's the catch? I knew there was a shoe about to drop.

He seemed very relieved. "Good. One thing..." I knew it! "... Do you like pancakes?"

What the hell? Pancakes? Even my pussy thought that was weird. It wanted a nice fat sausage. "Uh...yeah." Who in the hell doesn't like pancakes?

"With real pure maple syrup?"

"I'm not sure I've ever had real pure maple syrup, I've heard it's kind of a gourmet thing. But I really like maple fudge. Shar brought some home from her vacation last fall. So I'm sure I would like it."

"Do you know how to make buttermilk pancakes?"

"No, but if that's the price of admission, I'll learn how to do that tonight. I have basic cooking skills. You've had my cupcakes and I know how to make french toast and I pour the Mrs. Butterworth's on that."

He smiled and said, "If you like Mrs. Butterworth's, you're in for a real treat. We'll leave right from work on Friday. You can leave your car here. You've got a warm winter coat and warm boots?"

"Uh, no car to leave. I take the bus. Minding my pennies. You'll have to take me to my apartment if we get back late Sunday. I've got the coat. I'll borrow the boots from my roomie... or buy them if she says no."

"Good. And bring your longjohns." I don't know why he didn't assume that I had warm boots but did assume that I had long underwear, but I didn't. It's hard to find them for women my height, so it was another thing I would have to try to borrow from my roommate, who was three inches shorter than me.

Shar was aghast at the idea that my first date with Marshall would be a weekend alone where I couldn't even get cell phone reception. She swore that she would take her 'duty' very seriously and call the police first thing Monday morning if I didn't show up to work or at least call to let her know I was okay. I don't know why she cared about my welfare because I was never as friendly as she wanted me to be with her, but I guess she was accepting me for who I was or hoping that I would become more social with more exposure to men. She might have assumed I was inexperienced. I never told her anything about my past relationships.

My roommate thought I was crazy when she learned why I was cooking pancakes and breakfast sausage for supper. She was also very disappointed that she would be spending the weekend alone after her breakup, but after she called a friend and set up a date for hitting the bars on Friday night, she consented to letting me use her heavy boots and wool socks and she also loaned me a pair of silk longjohn bottoms. I had plenty of other tops to layer above my waist. She actually seemed excited that I was doing anything with a guy, so she helped me pack a go bag for a "Winter woods weekend", making sure that I took my sexiest undies. I told her about Marshall's comment of not laying hands on me unless I wanted him to and she encouraged me to give him a chance. I had never told her why I didn't trust men. We had just never become close enough for her to learn intimate details about me.

On Thursday night, I was lying in bed all excited about the impending trip when I decided to break a rule I had made when I first met Marshall. When I'd indulged in masturbatory fantasies since meeting him, something that has always happened almost nightly, I had deliberately excluded him as the subject of my fantasy. I guess maybe I thought that placing him in the role of fantasy lover would cause me to somehow ruin my chances for a deep friendship with him or otherwise twist whatever relationship we had into something unsatisfactory. But our friendship had deepened to the point where I felt it could go no further until we had crossed the physical boundaries. It was time to either become sexually intimate with him or to pull away and wait for a more suitable guy to come along, although I couldn't imagine that happening. My body had told me that this time had come by becoming sexually aroused daily in his presence to the point where it became difficult to converse with him or read my book near him. I could only hope that he felt the same way and that we would cross that boundary during the weekend.

But my pussy was insisting that it wanted me to include him in my fantasy that night. And it had to be a specific favorite fantasy. Not the romantic fantasy where I toyed myself to the edge of orgasm several times before bringing myself over while I imagined that a guy was pleasuring me orally the way the librarian had. Not the revenge fantasy where I punished the guys who had treated me poorly. This had to be the My Big Secret fantasy.

My Big Mistake had discovered My Big Secret and used it against me numerous times until I had learned of his treachery and ended our relationship. And then he used it to hurt me by revealing it to others until I developed a deep mistrust of men. I met him in college when my dorm roommate dragged me to a party and spiked my drinks with extra vodka to get me to "loosen up". I had danced with My Big Mistake and it had gotten a little silly, but he was a handsome man and he soon had me backed against a wall, not forcefully, but as a way to talk to me. Of course I understood that he wanted to talk his way into my pants, but I was too drunk to care. He asked if we could go someplace quieter to talk and I offered my room, since that was where I wanted to be anyway. And that's when we both learned My Big Secret.

I didn't even have the key in the door when he moved up behind me and put his arms around me. It wasn't brutal. He didn't go immediately for my breasts or my crotch. It was just the most arousing thing that had ever happened to me. He just kept one hand on one hip and let the other come around to my belly above the waistband of my jeans and applied a very gentle pressure. He also started to nuzzle my neck and nibble my earlobe and that took my breath away. But then he pressed his crotch against my ass and when I realized that I was feeling his hard bulge pressing between my ass cheeks, my pussy started screaming that it wanted cock and any resistance that I could have mustered just melted away. Nobody had ever touched me like this before and it set my crotch on fire and made my nipples so sensitive that my hands shook as I finally got the key in the lock, opened the door, and dragged him inside. A little alcohol and the right moves behind me and I was an instant slut.

I was not a virgin. I had lost that status in high school in a not-very-satisfying way. But I had never felt so horny. Our clothes came flying off and he was fucking me doggy style almost before they settled on the floor. But then he came and that was it. I didn't come, but I didn't mind because I thought I was in love. Within a half hour, we were dressed again and talking when my roommate returned home. She took one look and knew I had gotten laid. She gave me the thumb's up sign and I suddenly found myself with a boyfriend. Other than the lousy sex, he wasn't a total schmuck right away. He was real nice in other ways to me, so we became exclusive, or so I thought.

I luckily didn't get pregnant from the first time and I started using contraceptive implants right away because I recognized my vulnerability to future pregnancies. I guess I thought the sex would get better with him as we gained more experience with each other, but it never did. After I dumped him, and had the one good fuck from the librarian, and before I had absorbed enough of her wisdom about embracing my introversion, I briefly tried to more extroverted so I could find a better man, a man who could do what she did for me. But that involved drinking to gain courage. So I looked for them at parties and the bars that catered to college students.

I learned too late that because I had ended it with My Big Mistake by kneeing him in the balls, he had told My Big Secret to some of his friends for revenge. My Big Secret got out and eventually I learned that I was being targeted at parties and bars by guys who knew the key to an easy one night stand. They knew to wait for me to drink a second drink and then what buttons to push. Fortunately, that was only five more guys before I learned not to drink with men around. Then I graduated and moved away. I had been sober since then, except for sometimes having wine while relaxing prior to indulging in sexual fantasies. I had no intention of abstaining from all alcohol, just social drinking. But I had also been celibate since then, and I really loved the My Big Secret fantasy.

So I got my toys out, undressed, crawled into bed, and captured an image of Marshall firmly in my mind. I laid on my side, kept my lower leg almost straight and pulled the other knee up until its heel met the lower knee. This put me into the perfect position for slipping a small lubricated plug into my anus. This seems to help me imagine the man behind me, pressing his cock against me. I then rolled onto my belly for the next part. I focused on the feel of the fabric against my belly and imagined it was Marshall's hand touching me there. I pulled a towel over my back and ass and imagined that the rougher fabric was male body and pubic hair touching my smooth skin as I clenched the butt plug and humped my mound against the sheet. I raised myself slightly, so my nipples just barely grazed the bed sheet and sent little sparks of sensation into me. I could feel them harden nicely in response as I imagined it was Marshall's hand rubbing against me. I snaked one hand underneath me and into my nest of pubic hair, tugging it gently before letting it proceed down to slip a finger between my folds and dip into my syrupy nectar. Imagining it was Marshall's hand and fingers, I played them around my vulva, simulating inexpert groping until my arousal was far along.

I slid my torso back and got up onto my spread knees so that my heels touched my ass and one hand could tug and squeeze my hard nipples while the other became increasingly more expert at groping my pussy. I picked up a dildo and slipped it into my wet tunnel. Imaginary Marshall was fucking me now as I turned on my vibrator and applied it above my clit. I got back down onto one elbow and that one hand could still feel one nipple. The other hand worked the vibrator in smaller and smaller circles. I gently rocked back and forth so the towel was tapping the backs of my thighs repeatedly as I imagined that I was feeling Marshall thrust into me. My personal pussy honey oozed down the tip of the vibrator and onto my fingers, signaling that it was time hold it directly on my clit as I rolled one nipple and clenched my ass hard on the plug. I came quietly so my roommate wouldn't hear, shuddering exquisitely, whispering commands to Marshall to keep fucking me. It was a long wonderfully powerful climax that didn't stopped until after I had collapsed prone onto the bed, trapping my hand and the vibrator against my clit until the squeezing of my pussy pushed the dildo out.

As I fell asleep later, I could only hope that I could entice Marshall to become as good as my fantasy. I knew that any man who became close enough to me to be a really good friend would eventually learn My Big Secret. I could abstain from drinking, but I understood that alcohol was not required if I trusted the guy. And my pussy and I both agreed that we wanted me to somehow find a man who was worthy of knowing it. And we had high hopes that I had.