It's Not Cheating If...

I struggled which category to put this one because it doesn't fit most of them well. I went with Novels and Novellas because it's about 22K words ... hopefully no one will feel cheated because it's too short.

Feedback is always welcome though if you hate it, please tell me why it's no good. That's the only way I'll learn. Thanks!

I guess I should have seen it coming. Looking back, I think the worst, most insidious forms of deception and delusion aren't the ruses perpetrated on us by someone else.

It's the lies we willingly tell ourselves.

#

Even as a child, I was willful. Dad used to say I had a mind like a steel trap, a fighter's heart, and the tenacity of a bulldog. Mom just said I was too stubborn for my own good. I think they were both right.

Of course, having three older brothers surely had something to do with it. I learned early on that if I wanted something I was going to have to scrap for it. They were my brothers and they didn't cut me much slack because I was a girl, or the baby. In a way, all of our wrestling and fighting was good for me. It thickened my skin, physically and mentally. As we all got a little older, the boys did ease up a little and I took full advantage of pouts, nagging, a few tears, and every other weapon in my feminine arsenal. When it comes to toys, or Mom and Dad's attention, or even the biggest pork chop on the platter, it's war and all is fair.

Don't get me wrong, I adore my family. They made me into the person I am today. Me and the guys still squabble but it's the arguing of adults, not children, and it's always infused with sibling love. My brothers would walk through lava for me, and I for them.

The other thing I learned about myself growing up was that I love children. There's such innocence and joy in their lives, just waiting to be brought out—and I think that's why the broken ones called to me so much, because I wanted them to find some happiness. I knew I wanted to help any that I could, and I wanted my own. My teenage brain rationalized that every child born to me wouldn't be born to someone who would mistreat them. Irrational, I know. What can I say, I was young.

My high school counselors saw my desire and steered me to a career in child psychology. Once I knew what it was about, I was on board. Other than that, high school was a waste of time. I didn't dislike it but the work was rarely challenging and I itched to get out and get my life started.

Nobody in my family had gone to college. My parents and my brothers ran the family construction business and did quite well in our little corner of rural east Texas. I was determined to break that trend. I fought for scholarships and grants, and saved every dime I could. When my acceptance letter came from the University of Texas, my parents framed it and hung it on the wall. My brothers teased me but I could tell they were proud too.

Graduation came and went and a week later, I turned eighteen. I had a burning itch to get my life underway but the summer lay ahead, so I hung out at home, helped my mom doing some bookkeeping at the office, and counted the days.

It was about three weeks before I was due to leave for school. I was on my computer, reading about some case studies of children of divorce and the impact on their mental development when I heard a knock at the door. I glanced over. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi. Are you busy?"

"No, what's up?"

She came in and closed the door. "Bend your ear a moment?"

"Sure."

Mom sat on my bed, smiled at me, and patted a spot next to her. I left my desk and sat next to her. She put her arm around my shoulder.

I gave her a sudden started glance. "Mom, is everything okay?"

"I just want you to know how proud we all are of you. Me, Dad, Paul, Allen, and Jonathan. We all know you're going to do great."

I smiled at her.

"But we need to have a little talk."

"About?"

"Sex."

I cocked my head. "We had that talk when I was eleven."

"This isn't a 'birds-n-bees' chat, Marie. This about the sex you're probably going to have while you're away at school."

I stared at her, feeling a heat creep up my cheeks. "Uhm ..."

Mom smiled at me. "Look, sweetie, I understand the temptations of being at school. You're going to be surrounded by a lot of good-looking people—more hot guys than you have ever seen before. There's going to be a lot of drinking, probably drugs too. It's going to be a very tempting environment. At some point, you're going to want to try it."

"Mom, uh, I don't think that's true."

She peered at me. "Are you trying to tell me you're not having any urges?"

"I—"

Mom laughed. "Don't even try it, young lady. Dad and I both can tell. Even now, I can see it in your eyes. You've been climbing the walls this summer. You look like you're about to burst."

I blushed and bit my lip. She wasn't wrong. My nightly sleep aid that summer had consisted of frantic fingers and a pillow over my face to keep quiet. Sometimes I did it twice before I drifted off and the desires were, if anything, getting stronger.

Mom read the embarrassment on my face. "Don't worry, you come by it honestly. Both Dad and I still have a high sex drive. So do your brothers."

I nodded, blushing harder. I'd heard my folks many times growing up. It never bothered me; I took it as a sign they were in love and happy together, and that made me feel secure in our family. But I never really wanted to talk about it. "Okay, but ... Mom, what's the point of all this?"

She turned sideways on the bed and took my hands in hers. "Marie, listen. We've always raised you to believe having a sex life is a healthy thing for an adult. But you need to still be careful. I know you have all these goals for your life. If you get pregnant before you're ready—or worse, catch some disease—you're might derail your future, and I would hate to see that happen."

"So ... "

"I already checked. The university can prescribe birth control through their health services and they provide condoms." She reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. "Use them. Use them both. It's okay to explore your urges but don't be careless and give up on everything you want, okay?"

"Mom ..." I groped for the words. "Do you know how weird it is having my mother come in here and tell me how to run my sex life?"

"Maybe. But I think in the end, you'll be glad I did. I wish my mother had done it for me. I had to figure it out on my own and that was a lot harder."

"Did you have this chat with the guys?"

"Your father did."

I gazed at her. "Well ... thank you, I think."

She patted my leg. "As they say, keep your eyes on the prize and you'll do fine."

The conversation stuck in my head—both for the surreal nature of it and for Mom's admonition. I do have to say she was right, though.

The whole family came to move me into the dorm and with sad smiles from the men and tears from Mom as they left, I was suddenly on my own. The shackles of being a child fell away from me like a leaf falling from a tree. The first week I was there, I found the Women's Services offices, got myself checked out and got on the pill, and the genie was out of the bottle.

Mom was right: there were a ton of of hot men all around me. It got to a point where I was walking around in a constant state of arousal. For my own part, I'd blossomed into a fairly attractive young lady, with ash-blonde hair that hung straight and halfway down my back, deep brown eyes, a pretty smile, thin waist, decent-sized breasts and slender hips. I had no trouble drawing men's interests, though honestly, most college males are so horny they'd fuck a snake.

My first time wasn't too memorable but it certainly wasn't bad either. A fellow freshman from Dallas. Nice-looking guy, though his name escapes me. He asked me to suck his cock before we had sex and even though I'd never done it, I was game. His dick got harder under my lips and I could feel his body quivering, and knowing I turned him on that much made my pussy drip in a way masturbating never had. Then I strapped a rubber on him and we got down to it. Contrary to stories I'd heard, I had no pain, just wonderful mind-numbing delight. That was all it took. I spent that first year banging every guy I could get into bed and I loved every second of it.

I recall one night in my dorm bed, on my hands and knees, while a member of the university soccer team—a lanky athletic guy with curly brown hair, iron abs, and a gorgeous smile—rammed me from behind. As his condom-clad dick lanced in and out of my juicy slot, blasting waves of pleasure up my body with each thrust, out of nowhere I remembered Mom's comments that I might be glad she had that discussion with me. I knew I'd spent the first two months proving her right with my sexcapades and without meaning to, I started an out-of-control giggling fit that totally broke the mood. The poor guy thought I was laughing at him. One look at his downcast face and I felt so bad that after I got over my laughter, I gave him a long slow blowjob to make up for it, culminating by letting him shoot all over my breasts. He seemed to appreciate that.

I didn't engage in threesomes or gangbangs or anything like that. I never tried a woman either, though I had a few offers. I didn't find the idea distasteful per se and I was a little curious, but the concept of my partner lacking a throbbing member, that was soft and hard at the same time and provided me with the hot sensation of just being so full inside ... that was something I couldn't get over. Most of my would-be lady paramours told me I was crazy. I was—I was cock-crazy.

Being cock-crazy and, I admit, a little indiscriminate, it was only a matter of time before I had a bad experience. No, fuck that; it was a nightmare.

A week after we got back from the holiday break and started the second semester, I was at a party and kept making eye contact with a good-looking dude across the crowded room. He was tall and relatively well-built. I'd had a few beers and figured why not, so I approached him, chatted him up for a few moments, then told him my roommate Kelsey was home for the weekend, that I was heading back to my empty dorm room, and that I'd be waiting.

Something felt off about the way he'd been staring at me with a self-satisfied smile but I chalked it up to beer and paranoia. I should have listened to my gut.

He knocked on my door less than five minutes after I got back. I didn't even bother to turn the lights off. We got naked and fell into bed. He did pause long enough to put a condom on but without any foreplay, he rammed his cock in me and started humping. I was surprisingly dry and it stung for a second. At the time, I thought it was because I was a little drunk. In retrospect, I think my instincts were trying to tell me something.

But as it was, I was keyed-up and he was pretty hot. My pussy started responding to the stimulation; the painful friction vanished as lubrication flooded my tunnel. After a moment, I was into it. I relaxed and starting pushing my hips against his.

He jackhammered against me with speed and strength, but with very little skill. Even so, his dick was decent-sized and filled me nicely. Ripples of mounting pleasure pulsed outward from my loins, announcing my imminent climax. I panted and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

I was almost there when he abruptly pulled out. I frowned but he rolled me onto my belly. His knees worked between my thighs, spreading them. I raised my rear end in anticipation, willing him to get back to work before I lost my orgasm.

I felt pressure at my back door. "Too high."

He pushed again.

"Hey, you're in the wrong spot." Thoughts of coming disappeared and I squirmed under him.

The guy's hand locked around the back of my neck. "Shut up, bitch."

He shoved again and the tip of his cock pushed past my sphincter. I struggled but the guy lowered his body weight onto my back and pushed my face into the mattress.

"No! I don't want that!"

"I said, shut up."

"Stop!" I thrashed but he had me pinned. I hollered, "Get the fuck off me!"

"Just take it. You'll enjoy it." He slammed his hips against my butt cheeks and his cock tore its way into my ass.

Burning pain enveloped my lower back. I screamed and tried to raise myself from the bed to shake him loose but he was too strong and heavy. I couldn't get any leverage. My feet kicked at him, to no avail.

The guy's mocking laugh stung my ears. His grip on my neck tightened. His thumb and fingers dug into my skin and he began thrusting into me.

Bolts of agony radiated through my abdomen. I cried out again. It felt like he was tearing me apart and the worst part was, I couldn't do anything about it. Tears of pain and helpless humiliation blurred my vision.

Then he made a mistake.

He paused and lowered his head so his lips were next to my ear. "Tell me you like it, slut."

In a flash, thoughts of fear and being degraded were shoved to the side by smoking-hot anger. A sheet of red mist descended over my vision. I'm sure he meant his snarling whisper to be taunting and intimidating.

All it did was make me angrier than I had ever been in my life.

My right hand groped on the nightstand. My fingers fell on the shaft of the heavy metal Maglite flashlight I kept there. Our dorm was undergoing renovation and the power was constantly going out. Until now, those outages had always been an annoyance. Now I was glad for them, since it meant the flashlight was within reach. My hand locked around the handle and I cranked the Maglite over my shoulder as hard as I could, aiming just behind my ear.

A meaty thunk told me it made a solid connection with his face.

The guy's pain-filled shout echoed off the cinder block walls of the dorm room. The grip on my neck and weight on my back vanished.

I shoved my hands into the mattress, bucking upwards. He fell off me and his dick popped free. I jumped to my feet. The guy slumped against the wall, holding his hands over his nose. Blood leaked from between his fingers. His voice was slurred. "Fuck ... fuckin' bitch ... gonna kill..."

Maybe I should have run but I was so far past rage I don't think there's a word for it. I picked up the flashlight again.

I have no idea what the son of a bitch was thinking while I was beating on him and I didn't much care. He curled into a fetal position and tried—and failed—to protect his head and face. Seeing him on the floor wasn't about to stop me. One of the many lessons I learned from wrestling and tussling with my brothers was that when you were in a fight with a man, as a smaller and physically weaker female, if you got an opening to put the guy down, you put him down.

Honestly, I might have killed him if the banging on the door hadn't brought me up short. I threw on my robe and opened the door.

Desiree and Candace, the girls in the dorm room next door, stood there. Their eyes were wide as dinner plates. "Marie? What the hell's going on?"

My adrenaline fled. Exhaustion filled my limbs and my anus began to throb. I dropped the now-broken flashlight, put my face in my hands, and started to cry.

The short version was that nothing much came of it. I didn't even learn his name until we were both in the hospital. Bennett Smithson. I curled my lip on hearing that. With a name like Bennett, no wonder he was a dumbass.

Of course, I voluntarily invited an ass-raper to my dorm room without even knowing his name, so maybe I was a dumbass too.

My only material damage was some bleeding and minor tearing but nothing serious. The doctor gave me a short course of antibiotics to prevent infection. She stated that no surgery was necessary at that time, that she thought it would heal on its own, though recommended I follow-up with a university doctor after a ten days. She also gave me a stern admonition to avoid anal sex for at least six weeks.

I laughed, though it was a bitter sound. "Don't worry. Nothing is ever going up there again."

I could have charged Smithson with rape. Given the atmosphere on campus, the school probably would have sent him packing on my word alone. Criminally, it would have been hard to pursue. It was a he-said, she-said type-of-thing. Too many people saw us flirting at the party. I just knew the right kind of slimeball lawyer would dig up some of my other flings to paint a picture of a slut that was asking for it. I didn't need that kind of aggravation. I don't know what Smithson told the cops. When they questioned me, I didn't tell them shit. They glared at me but I never heard from them again. I found out later Smithson had a history of such incidents, including having filed charges dropped twice for lack of proof. Maybe the cops guessed the truth, figured he had it coming, and let it go.

Some people would say I let Smithson get away with it. Those same people should have gone to see him in the hospital and asked him if he thought the black eyes, fractured jaw, and three broken fingers were worth the twenty-five seconds he got to spend in my rectum.

Some people might also say it wasn't rape, that I invited him in for sex. Those people can fuck right off. I told him to stop. He didn't and proceeded to injure me. End of story.

I certainly couldn't tell my parents what had happened. Mom would have come down to the dorm, picked me up around the waist and—crying the whole time—physically hauled me off campus so she could take me someplace to protect me. Dad would have gone after Smithson with a meat cleaver. I gave Jonathan, the youngest of my three brothers, a sanitized version of what happened, and made him swear not to tell our folks. I also told him I wanted a pistol. He told me that if I was going to keep living on campus, to forget it. I ended up with pepper spray and a switchblade in my purse.

Every person reacts to a sexual assault differently. I dealt better than I would have expected. I woke up screaming from a few nightmares but that was worst of it. I didn't like dwelling on the memories of feeling weak and vulnerable as Smithson hurt me; when those emotions crept into my mind, I shifted my thoughts to images of introducing him to Mr. Maglite and asking myself that when all was said and done, which of us had actually been powerless. That helped me cope. Kelsey, too, was a rock. She talked me through a few tough moments and I credit that experience as to why we remain tight to this day.

I only saw my rapist once more, a few weeks later. We made eye contact from across the walkway outside the Union Building. Bennett's face was still a mass of contusions. I half-expected him to leer or make an obscene gesture, like he was proud in some twisted macho way that he'd been inside me against my will, and that somehow gave him power over me.

He didn't. He averted his eyes and hurried away. About a week after that, I heard from Kelsey, who was keeping an eye on him through a friend in Enrollment Management that he'd transferred schools. For that, I was deeply glad.

One might think that would have been enough to keep me from knocking boots with random guys. No, I was still far too horny for that. I did learn to listen to my instincts, though. I avoided a number of potential hook-ups when something felt wrong or off. It was also over a year before I let a guy take me from behind again and with every one of them, I kept the purse with my weapons within easy reach.

#

Even with all that, I never lost sight of what I was supposed to be doing at school. I'd already figured I wanted to roll right into post-graduate work and for that, I needed to keep my grades up. So though I spent many a Friday night shaking a mattress with a man, I never missed class and gave me studies a lot of effort. College work wasn't much more challenging than high school and because the make-up of the human mind fascinated me, I never looked at the learning the material as a chore. Instead, I devoured it.