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Too Faced; Nothing Good
Topic Started: Nov 12 2014, 08:32 PM (458 Views)
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i'm not upset
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
In a secluded dark room, the blonde pushed her against a wall with a football poster on it. She sat on a night stand, pushing a lava lamp and an alarm clock onto the floor. The dim light and her inebriation meant there wasn't much to see anyway. She closed her eyes and felt his hands roam around the fabric of the tight, cheap dress that hugged her body like it was painted on. Only the very start of a moan escaped before he pushed his mouth against hers, muffling the rest of the sound

Rebeca was laid out across a bed, staring upside down as another girl started picking out clothes.

“It’s going to be fun. You need to have some fun, you know? No offense, but I think you’re starting to crack up. What did you tell your parents?” Amy asked.

“They don’t care where I am. I said something like ‘Amy’s house’ and left. No one said anything,” she said as she sat right-side-up.

“Okaaaay,” Amy sighed. “Well tonight your name is Claire and you’re wearing this,” she said handing Rebeca a short black dress.

She held it up and inspected it, running her fingers over the stitching.

“This looks cheap.”

“It’s a college party, no one is going to ask about your dress’ thread count or whatever.”

At the fraternity's door they were stopped briefly, but let in with Amy giving her brother’s name. Family was always welcome. He looked the girls up and down and smiled lasciviously.

“Have fun.”

Rebeca blinked and shielded her eyes as all senses were suddenly assaulted. Flashing lights and pounding music barred down on her. She wandered to a table where several large bowls of orange liquid were being ladled into red cups. A girl behind the table handed her a cup with a toothy smile. After looking down at it for a second, Rebeca gulped the entire contents and slammed the cup down on the table.

Amy gave her identical cup a little more consideration, carefully sniffing the liquid and looking down into it. Her inspection was cut short by a hand ruffling her hair.

“Hey sis, finally found you. Where are your friends?”

"Well one was...huh....she was just here."

"She'll turn up."

Rebeca was warm with liquor and dancing. Everything was delightfully warped and she felt elated. Below she saw an attractive blonde who was fixated on her. He’s been staring at her and his gaze never wavered. He took her by the hand, caught her around the waist when she stumbled forward and started talking.

Lost in the moment and the alcohol, every movement flowed as if on autopilot. She heard the zipper go down on the back of the Forever 21 dress she hated anyway. She giggled as he started nipping at her neck. He moved her hands down to his own zipper. Tentatively she took hold and pulled down.

“You’re shy?” he asked breathlessly.

She shrugged and smiled a familiar lopsided grin.


He shrugged and yanked the dress top down with one hand while the other trailed up the side of her thigh.

One hand acquiesced, pulling the zipper down while with the other hand she gripped the night stand. Her fingers curled slightly, catching the wood under her nails.

Amy looked around while she swayed slightly to the beat. There was no sign of the other girl.

“I'm getting worried. Have you seen my friend, Rebeca? Black dress, dark hair?” she said, turning back to her brother and two of his friends.

“Oh yeah, I saw Eric grab her,” said the one in a red trucker hat. “Surprised he didn't freak out as soon as she walked in.”

“Why would he freak out?" she asked brusquely.

“I mean...she looks just like….she’s almost identical, well like, she doesn’t have as big a rack but-”

Amy grabbed him by the shoulders, while her brother in turn put one hand on her shoulder.

“She looks just like who!?”

“That Survival of the Fittest chick he’s got a hard on for. The guys in the frat have been watching a stream or whatever on one of the TVs hooked up to the internet and saw that crazy bitch who got naked and she's been his waifu or whatever since."

The siblings shot each other alarmed looks.

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