otherworlderotic
[3:30 PM] Ethan: Jo, you're not gonna believe this. I have a little surprise for you… or is it a big surprise?
[3:31 PM] Jo: YOU. MUST. TELL. ME. NOW!! Spill it!
[3:32 PM] Jo: I'm also stuck in a boring lecture about the socio-economic impacts of the renegade period or something 🙄
[3:33 PM] Ethan: … do you mean renaissance?
[3:35 PM] Jo: Stop trying to change the subject! Whats the secret!!!
[3:36 PM] Ethan: Alright, alright! Caleb. Man of my dreams. He has become even more the man of my dreams….
[3:37 PM] Jo: What about your new man candy? Stop leading me on! You better not be telling me he hit a bench press pr or something.
[3:38 PM] Ethan: oh shush
[3:40 PM] Ethan: Turns out he has a family cabin. Just a couple hours drive away. 🏠
[3:42 PM] Jo: NO. WAY. You're joking, right?
[3:43 PM] Ethan: Nope. Dead serious. We’re going next weekend.
[3:44 PM] Jo: OMG!! So, is it going to be a naughty winter getaway for you two? 🔥❄️
[3:45 PM] Jo: SEX FEST SEX FEST SEX FEST
[3:46 PM] Ethan: Jo! 🙄🙄🙄
[3:47 PM] Ethan: But, yes 🙈🙈🙈
[3:49 PM] Jo: WHAT?! No way! Is Caleb bi? Can we share? Also I totally need to meet him! You’re keeping him from me!
[3:50 PM] Ethan: Hands off! Actually for real though. Not like with Laura. Seriously.
[3:51 PM] Ethan: … Not that I’m worried. He’s like, gayer than I am. Trust me, I know 😉
[3:52 PM] Ethan: But it IS a two bedroom cabin… and you should meet him. You’ll sass each other to death.
[3:54 PM] Jo: Wait, WHAT?!?! 🤯
[3:53 PM] Ethan: You're welcome to join us. And find someone special to bring along.
[3:55 PM] Jo: This is amazing! You are AMAZING.
[3:55 PM] Jo: WHERE WILL I FIND A BOY THOUGH I AM ALREADY STRUGGLING
[3:56 PM] Ethan: Well, you don’t HAVE to find someone…
[3:57 PM] Jo: Are you kidding me? I’m not third-wheeling sex fest.
[3:57 PM] Jo: I will be sexing at sex fest thank you very much.
[3:58 PM] Ethan: 🙄🙄🙄 Can we not call it sex fest?
[3:58 PM] Jo: No its definitely sex fest.
[3:59 PM] Ethan: [Voice message of just a loud sigh]
[4:00 PM] Jo: Great! We’re in agreement then. But where are my winter boots? And where’s my boy?
[4:01 PM] Ethan: Just take my advice, Jo. Go to a party, be your crazy self, and just find someone.
[4:02 PM] Jo: HA! You're making it sound so simple. Fine, I’ll try it!
[4:02 PM] Jo: Get ready for the winter sex fest! See you there 💗💋🥂
[4:03 PM] Ethan: I can't believe I'm friends with you.
[4:03 PM] Jo: You love me. Now, time to find me a man! 😘
≋ ≋ ≋
I step off the main drag onto frat row, the winter night's chill nipping at my exposed skin. I’m freezing, but it's worth it because I look killer in my dress. It's a little number I like to call 'confidence with a side of scandal.' Tight, short, and glittering under the streetlights.
And hey, I only had to yell at one staring creep on the way over. That’s a win.
"Let's do this, Jo," I tell myself, strutting towards the fraternity house. Music thumps from inside, shaking the ramshackle building to its very core. The warm glow from the windows clashes with the icy air, and I can't help but grin. This is exactly what I’m looking for. Slut mode activated.
As I approach the front door, a group of bros, complete with backward caps and beer-stained shirts, materializes out of nowhere. "Hey there, gorgeous," one of them slurs.
I raise my brows, feigning polite interest. “Oh, hi!” I flash them a bright, over-the-top smile. They’re a little too drunk, a little too loud, and not at all my type. Weird, I thought they would be my type. But I’ve got the major ick. Gotta trust my gut.
But hey, it’s a party, right?
"Love the dress," one leers, winking at me.
I laugh, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "Why thank you, darling," I respond, impulsively adopting a thick southern belle accent. "I wore it just for you." I wink back, and they erupt in laughter.
"Got room for one more in there?" one of them asks, gesturing to my tits.
"In this dress?" I say in mock-surprise. "Honey, I barely fit in here myself!"
I look them up and down, my grin widening, and step forward. The biggest one puffs up his chest even bigger, slightly blocking the door, and grinning at me. “Hey, my name’s Joe. You wanna get into the party, huh?” Big brain on this one, for sure, great powers of deduction.
I step up to him, and put a finger on his chest, staring him down. He looks confused. "Well, isn't that a coincidence, Joe?" I say, my voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm. "My name's Jo, too."
His brows furrow, and he blinks at me, clearly not expecting that. "Really?"
I nod, my grin never wavering. "Really. Jo, meet Joe. Joe, meet Jo."
I see his brain ticking, trying to figure out if I'm making fun of him or not. It's adorable, really, watching him process the information.
In the beat of silence that follows, I gently push him aside by my finger, and his body complies, unable to process my words and pretend to be an alpha at the same time. "Excuse me, big Joe," I say sweetly, as I slip past him and into the party.
Turning around, I give them all a cheeky salute. "Keep dreaming, boys!" I call out over the thumping music.
They all start hooting and hollering, their chorus of “broooooooo you just got fucking got!” following me into the party. I can't help but laugh.
"God, I'm good," I murmur to myself. I'm in control, and I'm so ready for Mission: Sex Fest.
"And so, the hunt begins," I murmur to myself as I step into the pulsating heart of the party. Let’s go.
≋ ≋ ≋
The ping-pong ball zips from my fingers, arcs through the air, and lands with a satisfying plop in another red solo cup. The crowd around the beer pong table erupts in cheers. That's seven for our team from me. Zero from my partner, a girl named Cindy who’s too busy making googly eyes at her boyfriend across the table to even come within a mile of one of the red solo cups.
"Jo, you're a beast!" Cindy slurs, throwing an arm around my shoulders and nearly toppling us both over. I steady us both, my own world spinning just a little from the drinks I've had.
"Focus, Cin," I say, grabbing her by the shoulders and drilling into her with my eyes. "We have a game to win."
"But Jo," Cindy whines, her eyes flickering back to her boyfriend, a tall, lanky guy who looks like he's about one drink away from forgetting his own name. "Brad's all alone over there. He needs me."
"Cindy. He’s the other team. They are the enemy!"
"But he's so cute," she coos, blowing him a kiss. Brad, bless his drunken heart, tries to catch it and nearly falls over.
This is it. I'm done playing around. It's time to bring out the big guns.
"All right, Jo," I say to myself, cracking my knuckles and getting into a serious stance. "Let's do this."
I take a deep breath, narrowing my eyes at the cups on the other side of the table. I tune out the noise, the laughter, the music, all of it. It's just me, the ball, and the cups.
I take a shot, and it lands. The crowd cheers, but I barely hear them. I'm in the zone.
Brad takes his shot. It goes wide, and Cindy lets out a giggle. I don't even crack a smile. This is war.
I take another shot. It lands. Plop.
Brad's up again. He sways on his feet, and his shot misses by a mile. Cindy cheers.
One cup left. I take the ball, weighing it in my hand. The room might as well be silent. All eyes are on me.
I take the shot. The ball soars through the air, and lands in the cup with a satisfying splash.
The room erupts. I let out a roar of victory, pumping my fist in the air. "That's how it's done!" I shout, pounding my chest, hooting. The crowd cheers, and Cindy lurches forward to give Brad a victory kiss, nearly knocking him over in the process.
As the roar of victory subsides into the steady hum of background noise, my attention is drawn to Cindy and Brad, now aggressively making out against the nearest wall. Brad's hands roam boldly over Cindy's back, dropping lower to grasp her butt. The crowd around them is staring, but the two are in their own world, oblivious to the spectacle they're creating.
My eyes slide off them just as two girls sidle up to the other side of the table, their eyes twinkling with competitive spirit. "We'll play winner," one of them announces, her voice carrying easily over the noise.
They're attractive, dressed in outfits that leave little to the imagination – one in a plunging sequin top and tight black jeans, the other in a crop top with a neon skirt that glows under the party lights.
My eyes flicker to Cindy and Brad, still lost in their drunken PDA. Looks like I'm going to need a new partner.
I start scanning the room, looking over the crowd. The party is in full swing, with clusters of people chatting animatedly, some dancing to the pounding music, others stumbling around with drinks in their hands. It's a wild, disheveled scene, the air heavy with the scent of alcohol and some sort of sweat-haze. This frat house is a wreck.
And then, my gaze lands on him. He's standing up against the wall, nursing a drink in one hand. He looks a little out of place, with his button-down shirt and glasses, a stark contrast to the sea of tank tops and broutfits around him. He's kind of nerdy, kind of cute, and he's looking around as if he's not quite sure why he's here.
His hair is a tousled mess, and there's a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyes, hidden behind the glasses, look thoughtful, as if he's debating leaving. There's something about him that piques my interest, a sense of quiet confidence beneath the awkward exterior.
Maybe it’s because he’s kind of like Amy.
I grin, straightening up. Looks like I've found my new partner.
Zeroing in on my target, I point at him from across the room, my index finger leveled like a loaded gun.
"You!" I shout, my voice cutting through the clamor. "Glasses! Get over here and be my partner!"
He looks up, startled. There's a moment of confusion, and then realization as he sees me pointing at him. He shrugs off the wall and starts making his way over, looking adorably bewildered.
As he approaches, I clap him on the shoulder, grinning up at him. "Ready to win this?"
He blinks at me, adjusting his glasses. "Uh, sure, I guess?"
"That's the spirit," I say, clapping him on the shoulder. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Um, it's Ben," he says, offering me a shy smile.
"Great. I'm Jo. Let's do this, Ben."
"Ever played beer pong before, Ben?" I ask, leaning in close to him.
He shakes his head. "Not really. I'm more of a, uh, chess guy."
I laugh, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Well, Ben, tonight you're a beer pong guy."
The game starts, and it's clear from the get-go that these girls aren't just all looks. The first effortlessly sinks a shot. They're good. But I'm not worried about the game. I'm more interested in my new partner.
"Well then, Ben, show us what you've got," I say, stepping back to give him room.
He takes a deep breath, his fingers wrapping around the ping pong ball with a concentration that's almost endearing. He releases the ball, and it soars through the air, but misses the cup by a mile. I clap him on the back.
"Nice try, Ben," I say, giving him an encouraging smile. "You'll get the next one."
One of the girls, the one in the neon skirt, takes her turn. She throws the ball, and it lands perfectly in one of our cups. She jumps up and down in excitement, her high-pitched cheers filling the room.
I focus up as I take the ball out of the cup. "My turn," I announce, and with a quick flick of my wrist, I nail the shot. Some bystanders cheer, and I give them a mock bow, earning a round of laughter.
Ben's up again. He looks a little nervous, so I step up to him. "May I?" I ask, my hands hovering over his hips. He swallows, then nods. I place my hands on his hips, feeling his body beneath his shirt. I steady him, my touch running along his sides a little bit more than is strictly necessary.
"All right, Ben," I say, looking up at him. "You've got this. I’ll steady you." He gives me a small, determined smile, and I step back, waiting for his next shot.
The ping pong ball soars through the air again, and once more, it misses the cups. Ben just shrugs, looking a little embarrassed.
"Aw, Ben," I tease, nudging him with my hip. "You're breaking my heart here."
The game continues, with me making every one of our successful shots. Ben tries and misses, again and again. But instead of being frustrated, I find it kind of endearing. I get more touchy with him, my hand finding its way to his arm, his back, his waist. He seems surprised at first, but slowly, he begins to reciprocate, his own hand brushing against mine, a shy smile playing on his lips.
There's a thrill in touching him, a spark that ignites in my chest every time our skin meets. I like the feel of him, the warmth that radiates from him. The feel of BOY. It's a game, a dance of touch and tease, and I'm enjoying every second of it. Way more than the “real” game.
But the girls on the other side of the table are nailing every shot, and we're losing. The game is slipping away, but I'm not ready to let it end. Not yet.
I turn towards Ben, our bodies brushing lightly as I lean in closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. My hand lands softly on his arm, my fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path along the fabric of his shirt. He tenses slightly under my touch, his eyes darting to meet mine.
"Ben," I say, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for his ears. "I think you just need proper motivation,"
His eyebrows quirk upwards, a silent question in his gaze.
"If you make this shot," I continue, my fingers tightening slightly on his arm, "I'll give you a kiss." I tug at the bottom of my dress, exposing just a little bit more cleavage.
His eyes widen, and he swallows, looking from me to the table and back. But then he nods, and there's a new determination in his eyes.
He picks up the ball, his gaze focused on the cups on the other side of the table. He takes the shot. The ball soars through the air, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. And then, it lands. Right in the cup.
I throw my arms around Ben, whooping in delight. He looks stunned for a moment, and then a grin spreads across his face. He raises his fist in victory.
I reach over and pull Ben into me, our lips crashing together in a passionate kiss. He melts into me, his hands finding their way to my waist.
His lips are warm and soft, and I keep kissing him, turning a single kiss into a full on make out. I slide my tongue against his, a slow, exploring dance that sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. I gently nip at his lower lip, savoring the soft gasp that escapes him.
My hands roam over his chest, his slim body. I can feel his heartbeat, fast and steady against my palm. It matches the rhythm of my own heart, a wild, pulsating drumbeat that fills my ears.
His hands move to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him. I can feel his body pressed up against mine, my breasts against his chest, and it sends a thrill through me. I deepen the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
In the background, the girls sink the last cup, their victorious cheers filling the room. But we don't care.
His arms tighten around me, holding me close, and I can't help but smile against his lips. Because even though we lost the game, I can't help but feel like I've won something far more valuable.
“Let’s find a room in this shitty frat house,” I say against his lips.
He just nods, eyes wide.
Got him.
≋ ≋ ≋
We end up in Ben’s friend’s room. It’s dimly lit and barely larger than a jail cell, cluttered with textbooks and discarded clothes, clearly a lived-in space.
We break apart only long enough to kick the door shut behind us, and then we're back at it, our lips locked in a heated kiss. There's an urgency now, a raw, pulsating need that fills the cramped room.
Ben's back is against the wall, my body pressed against his. His hands are on my waist, pulling me closer. His breath is warm against my skin, and I can't help but moan as his lips trail from my mouth down to my neck.
The room is a mess, the bed unmade and the desk cluttered with papers, but none of that matters. All that matters is the feel of him, the taste of him, the way the sound of his breath changes when I run my hands through his hair.
His hands move from my waist, tracing a heated path up my sides. He hesitates for a moment, then his hands cup my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress. I moan into the kiss, arching into his touch. His thumbs brush over the sensitive peaks, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.
I reach down, my fingers finding the bulge in his pants. He's hard, the fabric strained against his erection. I stroke him through his pants, eliciting a groan from him. His grip on me tightens, his kisses growing even more desperate. His hands are on me, his touch setting my skin on fire. And I can feel him, hard and wanting, through the barrier of his pants. It's intoxicating, the need, the wanting, the raw, unfiltered desire.
His fingers find the straps of my dress, tugging them down slowly. The fabric slides down, pooling at my waist and leaving my breasts exposed. I shiver, anticipation curling in my stomach as his gaze drops to my chest.
He doesn't waste any time. He dips his head down, taking one of my breasts into his mouth. I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as he suckles, his tongue lapping at me. The sensation is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
"Ben," I sigh, my voice a sultry whisper in the cramped room. "Don't stop."
My hands roam over his body, tracing the broad expanse of his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles of his back. I encourage him, my fingers tightening in his hair, pressing him closer to me. I can feel his arousal against my thigh, hard and insistent, matching my own.
His mouth on me is intoxicating, his tongue working in ways that make my head spin. Every flick, every suckle sends waves of pleasure through me. I can't help but arch into him, my body seeking more of his touch.
Fuck it feels good to have someone touch me.
"That's it, Ben," I breathe out, my fingers digging into his hair. "Just like that."
My words are laced with desire, a dominant edge that makes his groans even louder. I guide him, my body moving in rhythm with his, our breaths mingling in the close space. His mouth continues its delicious assault, his tongue swirling around my nipple, sending shivers down my spine. He switches to the other breast, his warm mouth enveloping as much as he can. His tongue teases, flicks, and laps, drawing a needy whimper from me. His hands are firm on my waist, holding me close as he worships my breasts with his mouth.
Eventually, I manage to pull away, my chest heaving with arousal. With an assertive push, I maneuver him around and send him sprawling onto the messy bed. His eyes are wide, but there's a glint of excitement there, a hint of anticipation that matches my own.
I drop to my knees in front of him, my fingers tracing the bulge in his jeans. I can feel his hardness, the heat radiating through the fabric. I press my face against it, feeling the throbbing pulse of his arousal.
Slowly, almost teasingly, I unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the room. I then unbutton his jeans, my fingers brushing against his throbbing erection as I do. I can feel him watching me as I slowly reveal him. But my eyes are glued to his cock.
I lean down, pressing a soft kiss against the bulge in his underwear. Then, playfully, I nip at him through the fabric. He gasps, his hands tangling in my hair. With a smirk, I hook my fingers around the band of his underwear, tugging it down.
His erection springs free, standing hard and proud against his stomach. I take a moment to admire him, my fingers brushing against him, feeling the heat and hardness of him.
Slowly, teasingly, I lean in, my hot breath ghosting over his length. My lips press against the base, planting soft, wet kisses up his shaft. Between each kiss, I whisper, my words laced with desire.
"You're so hard for me, Ben," I murmur, my hand stroking him slowly. "Do you want my mouth on you?"
Without waiting for his response, I take him in my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head. I take him deeper, my lips stretching around his girth. I set a slow pace, savoring the weight and taste of him in my mouth.
My hands are not idle, one stroking what I can't take, the other reaching up to gently tease his balls. I look up at him, maintaining eye contact, as I continue to pleasure him. The sight of him reclined on the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure, is enough to send a jolt of arousal through me.
Between licks and strokes, I continue to talk, my voice muffled by his length. "You taste so good," I moan, my tongue flicking over a particularly sensitive spot. "I love feeling you in my mouth."
His groans and the way his hand tightens in my hair are all the encouragement I need to continue my sensual assault, taking my time, driving him to the edge of pleasure. There's something incredibly arousing about having him in my control, about being able to elicit such reactions from him.
My tongue is tireless, exploring every inch of him. I swirl it around the head, tracing the sensitive ridge before dipping into the slit at the top. I lavish attention on the underside of his shaft, finding the vein that runs there and following it with the flat of my tongue.
"I can't wait to feel you come in my mouth," I whisper against his length, my voice husky with desire.
With each word, each lick, each suck, I can feel him getting closer to the edge. I pick up the pace, bobbing my head faster, taking him deeper. My hand matches the rhythm of my mouth, stroking him in time with my sucks. Even though he’s the one getting off with my mouth, I feel like I’m using him, not the other way around.
I can hear his breath hitching, see the way his fingers tighten in my hair. It only spurs me on, my own arousal climbing with his. The wet sounds of my mouth on him, the ragged breaths escaping his lips compete with the thumping bass from the other room.
"Come for me, Ben," I urge him, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I want to taste you."
And with that, I take him deep, my mouth and hand working in tandem to drive him over the edge. Without warning, he comes, his body tensing as his climax overtakes him. He pumps into my mouth, his hot release filling me. I swallow around him, not missing a beat as I continue to milk him through his orgasm.
He shudders, his hand gripping my hair as the last waves of pleasure ripple through him. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving as he slowly comes down from his high.
As his grip on my hair loosens, I pull away, looking up at him. He's still panting, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. I stand up, sitting down on the bed next to him. I take his hand, guiding it to my still-clothed core.
Suddenly, he coughs awkwardly, pulling his hand away. "I need to clean up," he says, his words stumbling out in a rush. He quickly pulls his pants back on, not meeting my gaze as he adds, "I'll be right back."
I watch him go, confusion swirling in my mind. I'm still throbbing with need, my body aching for his touch. His abrupt departure leaves me disappointed, the smell of sweat hanging heavy in the air.
"Hurry up and come back, Ben," I tell him, my voice softer than I intended. I'm left alone in the room, the echoes of our pleasure still lingering.
As the seconds turn into minutes, I start to grow restless. I let my fingers wander over my body, tracing the curves and dips. My fingers find their way to my breast and between my legs.
I close my eyes, taking my time to pleasure myself. My fingers brush over my nipples, drawing a soft moan from me. It's not needy, not desperate. It's a slow burn, a way to stave off the building frustration.
But as the minutes drag on, he still doesn't return. I wait, my fingers still working on my own body, my mind filled with thoughts of him. But he doesn't come back, and my frustration starts to mount.
Finally, I’ve had enough. I pull my dress back on, the fabric clinging to my body. I'm mad, my anger simmering just below the surface. But I’m still hopeful. Maybe he got distracted, or the cops showed up or something. I get up from the bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I stride out of the room.
I make my way back to the party, my eyes scanning the crowd for him. I'm determined to find him, to confront him. The partygoers are a blur as I push through them, my mind focused on one thing and one thing only — finding him.
The party is in full swing when I step back in. The music is loud, the lights are low, and there's a thrum of energy in the air. But it all seems a little off to me now, a little dirty and sinister. The laughter feels too loud, the smiles too wide. Everything is tainted by my anger, my frustration.
I weave through the crowd, my eyes scanning the room for him. But he's nowhere to be found. My heart sinks, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.
Finally, I spot a guy I recognise. I walk up to him, my voice just above a whisper as I ask, "Have you seen,” - what was his name again? Oh yeah. “... Ben?"
“Skinny, glasses, kind of nerdy?” I nod a confirmation. "I saw him leave," he tells me, his eyes filled with confusion.
My blood boils at his words. "What the fuck is wrong with him?" I blurt out, my anger seeping into my voice. "He owes me an orgasm. He fucking came and ran."
The guy's eyes go wide at my words, his mouth opening and closing in shock. But when he finally speaks, his words hit me like a punch in the gut. "Oh shit, dude, he has a girlfriend."
The revelation leaves me reeling. I feel a knot of betrayal in my stomach, a wave of disappointment washing over me. I'm left standing in the middle of the party, the music and laughter fading into a dull roar as I process what just happened.
What the fuck. That scumbag.
I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I feel a surge of anger, a burning rage that threatens to consume me.
“If you see him, tell him he can go fuck himself.”
The bewildered partygoer just nods, and I force the anger down and walk away. I’m getting out of here.
The party becomes a blur, the faces and the music all blending together. I push through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances thrown my way. I walk out the door, the cool night air hitting me like a slap in the face.
The walk home is a blur of streetlights and shadows. My mind is a whirl of thoughts, each one more furious than the last. My footsteps echo in the empty streets, matching the pounding of my heart. The cold air feels good, sobering, tempering my rage.
When I finally reach my dorm, I'm still fuming. My hands are shaking as I fumble with the keys, the metallic jingling echoing in the quiet hallway. I let out a frustrated sigh as I finally manage to unlock the door, stepping inside and slamming it shut behind me.
As I kick off my shoes, something on the floor catches my eye. It's a white envelope, pushed under the door. I missed it when I walked in, my mind too consumed with thoughts of the party. But now, its presence instantly lifts my mood.
I pick it up, a smile spreading across my face as I take in the cute stickers adorning the envelope. They're fantasy-themed, chibi witches and potions and magical creatures. It's adorable, and it's so quintessentially Amy.
"To Jo," it says on the front, the handwriting familiar and comforting. I turn it over in my hands, my fingers tracing the stickers. The anger from earlier seems to dissipate, replaced by a warm feeling of anticipation.
I sit on the bed, the envelope in my hands. I'm still mad at Ben, the betrayal still fresh in my mind. But this, this envelope, it's a beacon of positivity in an otherwise frustrating night.
I consider texting Amy, letting her know that I got her envelope. But something stops me, a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. After tonight, I don't feel like sharing my feelings, not yet. So I decide not to, choosing instead to keep this moment to myself.
I look down at the envelope, my fingers itching to open it. But I hesitate, a feeling of unease washing over me. I still feel dirty from the party, the remnants of my anger clinging to me like a second skin.
Making up my mind, I stand up and shrug off my party dress. It lands in a crumpled heap on the floor. I grab my towel from a hook, heading towards the bathroom. It feels like a good time for a shower, a chance to wash away the negativity from the night.
≋ ≋ ≋
Wrapped in a fluffy robe, I feel a lot better. The hot shower was exactly what I needed, the steam and the water working their magic on me. Not to mention brushing my teeth. I feel cleaner, lighter, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I sit down on the bed, the envelope still unopened. I trace the cute stickers again with my fingers, a small smile playing on my lips.
With a deep breath, I slowly tear open the envelope.
