Lola's First Boyfriend

Author's note: This story is actually the third in a series. It is written to be read as a standalone story.

This is the longest story I've written for this site, but I think it's also my best. If you stick with me, I promise to make it worth your while. Happy reading.

Yours,

Lola

...

To win a scholarship as a Division I athlete at a major school takes more than just physical skill. Strength, speed, and size are all important, but the one quality that virtually all scholarship athletes have in common across every sport is their competitive nature. It takes an almost pathological competitive streak to make the sacrifices necessary to secure a spot at that level.

For better and for worse, that kind of competitive spirit seldom ends at the boundaries of one's sport. Elite athletes tend to be compulsively competitive on and off the court. In some cases, this manifests in healthy ways. I've known athletes who were incredibly driven in science, business, and many other fields. Of course, there are also athletes whose competitive nature draws them toward gambling, substance abuse, and financial ruin.

In my case, an addiction to competition helped turn me into a slut.

When it comes to sex, competition takes two forms, each thrilling in its own way: to compete and to be competed for. I have known the delicious pleasure and the exquisite humiliation of indulging in both.

If you've read my previous stories, you know that my father is white and my mother is Korean. They split up while I was in high school after it came to light that my father, a university professor, had slept with several of his students. My mother expelled him from our lives, but in doing so, she left me with a considerable void at a particularly vulnerable time in my life. Not long afterwards, this vacuum of male influence was ably exploited by the older son of my tennis coach, a white college senior named Cam who exalted in being the first man to conquer me when he roughly took my virginity on a recruiting trip.

This encounter and the events leading up to it were the subject of my first stories on this site, so you can read the lurid details if you like, but I bring it up here to illustrate how my competitive nature predisposed me towards slutty behavior from the very beginning. Cam was a hotshot college baseball player and the idea that he would pick me over girls his own age was enough to push me past flirtation and into a situation I couldn't control. By the time I realized what I had "won," I was bent over in his bedroom, bracing myself against a weight bench as he pounded into me and told me what a hot, big-breasted high school slut I was.

If my desire to compete got my cherry popped by a college boy four years my senior, the thrill of being competed for quickly took me down a much darker path. The summer before I went to college, my tennis scholarship to USC got me a job as a tennis instructor at a swanky, exclusive country club in the Las Vegas suburbs. Of course, as I described in another story published on this site, I quickly learned that it wasn't my tennis skills so much as my taut, half-Asian tennis body that the members were interested in. For a girl with long, silky black hair and Asian features, my big tits (34C) and long legs make me stand out, and at a country club filled with rich, arrogant white men, they made me a target. That summer, I was a constant object of their attention, and despite myself I reveled as they vied aggressively with one another to fuck me. Ultimately, I ended that summer at the mercy of my boss, a married white man in his mid-30s named Magnus who had been scheming for months to get me into a compromising position. Yet even as Magnus railed his married cock into my 18-year-old body, I couldn't help but feel as if he had somehow earned the right to my pussy by besting the other men at the club who had tried to claim me as their own and failed.

As you can see, both my sport (tennis) and the competitive drive that allowed me to excel at it played important roles in my early sexual experiences, which in turned shaped my notions of what sex should be like. By the time I left for college, I had never had a real boyfriend, but I'd been fucked with exquisite dominance by two different white men who each asserted a right to my body as the spoils of competition. They coached me, with actions and words, to seek out "deserving" alpha males like themselves and surrender my body for their pleasure. As they fucked me, they made me swear fealty to their huge cocks, demanding that I pledge never to submit to a smaller man.

I cannot deny that my experiences with Cam and Magnus brought me some pleasure, and I would be lying if I said I never think of them still with fingers between my legs. But these mature, full-grown men sent me off to college with a deeply warped idea of sex that is still with me to this day. My therapist says that I'm unable to have normal romantic relationships because I see every situation as a potential competition. As I've said, sometimes this impulse leads me to pursue men who are taken or in particularly high demand. More often, however, I am the one in high demand—after all, what man wouldn't want to fuck a beautiful half-Asian girl with big tits and a body sculpted by countless hours of Division I tennis? I know how badly men want me, so I subconsciously expect my partner to outcompete all other men for the right to fuck me. As a result, I am constantly looking over my shoulder at other suitors, assessing whether they are more deserving of access to my body. What this means in practice is that as soon as any partner becomes complacent, I am susceptible to being taken from him by the most aggressive, big-dicked alpha male that enters my orbit. When they fuck me, men love to say that they own my pussy, but you only own it until you cum. If my pussy is a piece of property, then possession is nine-tenths of the law.

This pattern has repeated itself many times over in the years, but this is the story of my freshman year, when I cheated on my very first boyfriend.

...

When I arrived at USC to start my freshman year, I was already walking along a knife's edge. On the one hand, I was quite naive in the ways of relationships, having never had a real boyfriend. Yet while I had only slept with two men, they had exposed me to sexual experiences often reserved for much older and savvier women.

I set foot on campus still shrouded by the thrall of my submission to Magnus. After Magnus had finally claimed me following months of deft, careful manipulation, he was quick to extract every ounce of pleasure he could from my nubile, barely-legal body. Instead of spending my final weeks before college at home with my mother and younger brother, I spent hours a day behind the locked doors of his office at the country club, feeding his bottomless appetites with the fruits of my body. He forced me how to call him "Daddy" as he pounded my teenage pussy from every angle. He taught me how to suppress my gag reflex so he could photograph me with his cock buried inside my mouth. He refused to use a condom, alternating between filling my tight young cunt and covering my pretty Asian features with his married cum. In my futile efforts to satisfy him, I plied my mother with one flimsy excuse after another, buying myself time to service him until he had gotten his fill. But it was never enough. One night, he parked outside my mother's house and coaxed me into giving him a blowjob in her driveway, sending me back inside with his spunk painted across my tits and soaking through my nightshirt. Knowing how soon he would lose me to college, he wasted no time, coercing me through a summer's worth of sexual submission in a matter of days.

Escaping to Los Angeles for school was an opportunity to put Magnus behind me and move on, but it wasn't so simple. I couldn't really face how utterly and completely I had given myself to him. My mind broke when I thought about how easily I had acquiesced to his demands and how quickly he had transformed me into a compliant sex slave. For his part, Magnus fucked with my head as skillfully as he pillaged my body, insisting over and over again that he was merely bringing out the slut that was already inside me. He claimed to know from the day we met that it was inevitable he would fuck me, as if it were preordained, like he possessed some special knowledge about my true nature. He liked to say that his huge cock was awakening something within me that would never go back to sleep. And each time he shattered my resolve with another leg-shaking, finger-curling orgasm, it became harder to disagree.

But even with all of that, it was a relief to be free of him. Despite the hold he had on me, I knew on an intellectual level that it was wrong to fuck my married, 30-something boss. I knew that the shame would be brutal if anyone ever found out about it, especially my mom, who was already deeply suspicious of white men after my dad's cheating scandals emerged. And Magnus was so sexually demanding that it would have been impossible to keep him a secret for much longer.

So as I said, I started college on a knife's edge, balancing between my desire for my first real, healthy relationship against the addictive thrill of submitting to a dominant alpha male. I had a chance to start fresh and seal my dalliance with Magnus in the past as a slutty fantasy from a forgotten time.

I think you can guess how that turned out.

...

"So, like, first of all, fuck you for being this hot in person."

"Elsie, stop already!" I shook my head, laughing.

"No, like, this is bullshit. I saw your Insta and was all, 'That's for sure a filter, she cannot be that pretty,' but you totally are."

"Whatever, you're like this perfect blonde beach babe, so don't even act."

"Oh yeah, I'm blonde, just like a million other sluts walking around LA with a bottle of peroxide. Soooo special. But I'm supposed to be roommates with this, like, tan, ethnically ambiguous goddess?" Elise made a pouty face. "I've been at college for 30 minutes and my life is over."

"Oh my god, you are ridiculous. Ethnically ambiguous goddess? Who says that?" I snorted. "I'm just a half-Asian girl who doesn't fit in anywhere."

"The only place you won't fit is into any of my bras," she giggled. "How did I get stuck rooming with an Asian girl who has bigger boobs than me?"

I shrugged. "There's always implants."

"Oh, you bitch," she smiled. "Well, I am just going to have to dress extra slutty so you don't get all the attention."

Elsie was my freshman year roommate and my first friend at college. She was easy to like: a bubbly little firecracker from Calabasas who never stopped smiling. She was a coxswain on the USC crew team, so while we played different sports, we had the competitive gene in common. As you can see from our first conversation, we got along right away, but from the beginning there was a friendly rivalry simmering below the surface.

This rivalry came into focus one afternoon a few weeks into the school year when Elsie came bursting into our room.

"Tad. Potter." She leaned against the door and slid backwards until she was sitting on the floor. "Lola," she squealed, "Tad Potter is into me!"

"Okay," I said, looking up from my laptop. "Talk to me, girl."

Elsie had been trying to catch Tad's eye since orientation, and she wasn't alone. Tad Potter was the consensus stud of our class at that point. He was tall with sandy brown hair, bright blue eyes, and the sinewy build that suited him as a soccer player. He was also in the ROTC program and his dad was apparently some big shot at the Department of Defense. Elsie was infatuated with him, and frankly, I could see why. I had noticed Tad myself, but between Elsie's obsession and my head still reeling from the summer tryst with Magnus, I hadn't been actively competing for his attention. Still, between his All-American good looks, his important family, and his status as both an athlete and an ROTC, there was no denying that he was the total package.

"I left my keycard in the room, so I was just waiting outside for someone to swipe me in." She had stood up and was now pacing the room as she spoke, a tiny bundle of energy. "And who do I see but Tad and his roommate Greg coming back from the dining hall. We started talking, and then, he said they were going to get some liquor tonight, so did we want to come drink in their room later?"

She stopped, looked at me, and took a deep breath.

"Lola, you have to come with me tonight to drink with them."

"I don't know, Els." I glanced back at my laptop. "I have a lot of work to do, and I have practice in the morning tomorrow."

"Pleeeeeease, Lola," she pouted. "He told me to bring my roommate, and I'll look like a total loser if I show up by myself."

"He asked you to bring your roommate?"

"Well, yeah," Elsie shrugged. "Greg is gonna be there, too, so it would be a little awkward if it was just me with two guys. I'm slutty but I'm not that slutty."

"Okay, fine," I said. "But I do have practice in the morning, so don't let me drink too much."

...

When we showed up to Tad's room that evening, Elsie was disappointed to find that the invitation she had received wasn't exclusive. Besides us, there were six people packed into Tad and Greg's double room, including two other girls who were also roommates. Elsie sized up these girls as we walked in, whispering in my ear, "We're way hotter than either of these skanks."

As we closed the door, Tad came over to greet us.

"Elsie! You made it." He hugged her and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. Then he turned to me. "And I've definitely seen you around, but I don't think we've met." He extended a hand to me. "I'm Tad Potter."

"Lola Andrews," I said, shaking his hand. The formality of the gesture seemed strange given we were eight freshmen drinking in a dorm room, but his touch was warm and inviting.

"Let's get you girls a drink, shall we?" He turned towards the makeshift bar. "We have whiskey and vodka, and there's Diet Coke or orange juice if you want a mixer."

"This is so cool, Tad," Elsie said, touching his arm as she followed him to the bar. "How did you get all of this? Do you have a fake ID?"

"A guy I know through ROTC got it for us." He began pouring whiskey into a red plastic cup. "He's not actually in ROTC, but he joined the Marines out of high school and did a couple of tours before enrolling in college, so he's kind like an advisor for us. I think he's like 24 or something, but he's really cool."

"Is he here?" I asked, looking around.

"Nah, I think he's too old for a dorm room party," Tad laughed. "He's got a place off-campus that I hear is pretty wild, but I haven't been yet. Now, are we doing shots or are we doing shots?"

A couple of shots later, Tad's roommate Greg stood on his bed and called for attention.

"Okay people," he announced. "Everybody get a drink, because it's time for Ten Fingers, also known as Never Have I Ever. Does everyone know the rules?"

"Give us the rules, G," Tad yelled.

"The rules are simple: Everyone starts with ten fingers up. We go around the room, and when it's your turn, you have to say something that you've never done before. If someone else says something that you've done, you put down a finger and take a drink."

"And no lying!" Tad chimed in.

"That's right, T. This here's an honor system type of game, and the point of it is for us to get to know each other, so lying kind of defeats the purpose."

"Is everyone ready?" Tad asked. "I'll go first. Let's see... never have I ever... smoked weed."

Fingers went down around the room.

"Whaaaaat?"

"Seriously?"

"I know," Tad smiled. "I was super straight-edge in high school, and they drug test us in ROTC, so I gotta stay clean off the green. Anyway, who's next?"

As it always does, the game started off with relatively tame reveals, but as people drank more, the calls turned towards sex.

"Never have I ever... had sex in public," said Greg.

Elsie took a drink. The room erupted with oohs.

"You gotta tell us where!"

Elsie smiled mischievously. "The beach," she said coyly. "My ex was a lifeguard."

"Okay," Tad nodded approvingly. "This is heating up. You're next, Amanda."

The girl to Elsie's right cocked her head.

"Well, maybe I'm the prude one, but... never have I ever had a facial."

"And she's not talking about the spa kind!" Tad crowed.

I closed my eyes, remembering how Magnus reveled in making me me kneel before him. Without thinking about it, I took a tiny sip of my drink.

"Oh shit, Lola!" Greg whistled. "What's up, girl?"

Elsie turned to look at me, an eyebrow raised.

"I mean," I shrugged, blushing with the languid pulse of the alcohol. "It happens?"

"Okay, okay," Elsie said, turning back to the circle. "My turn. Never have I ever... had a threesome."

I closed my eyes again. Although my first threesome had ended prematurely when Magnus claimed me for himself and banished the lesser man, I had already sucked them both off by the time he took control. Did that count?

I winced, tossing back another drink.

"Goddamn, Lola Andrews from way downtown!"

"Well shit," Tad whistled.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Elsie had recoiled just slightly away and was staring at me with an uncertain look.

"Well, I am learning all kinds of things about my roommate tonight." She shook her head and gave me a little shove. "You never told me you were such a slut in high school!"

"Hey now, hey," Tad admonished her teasingly. "Let's not go slut-shaming anyone over youthful indiscretions." Then he looked at me, stroking his chin. "Your ex was a luck son of a bitch, huh?"

From there, the night became something of a blur, but the next morning I woke up for practice with a wicked hangover, a pissed off roommate, and Tad Potter's number in my phone.

...

For a couple of days after the party, Elsie didn't speak to me, but within a week or two we had more or less patched things up. Although she was angry that Tad had gone for me instead of her, I pointed out that she had insisted I come with her to the party, and that all I had done was play the same stupid game as everyone else. If Tad was interested in me, she couldn't really expect me to refuse just because she liked him, too.

Tad and I hooked up for the first time the following weekend and casually for a couple of weeks after that, but it wasn't until he asked me to be his girlfriend that we had sex for the first time. The funny thing about Tad was that although stories of my slutty behavior in high school had clearly piqued his interest, he seemed to have a sort of old-fashioned sense of propriety, as if fingering and blowjobs were part of hooking up but sex itself was more serious. Although he fit the profile of my "type" in many ways—tall, athletic, high status, and white—his sexual patience was unlike anything I'd experienced with Cam or Magnus.

It was sort of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it felt like he valued and respected me, which made it feel like we had a real relationship. On the other hand, our sex felt a little juvenile and stilted by comparison with the raw, animal fucking I'd experienced with the two older men. Tad was too timid to push my boundaries the way they had. He wasn't good at dirty talk or foreplay. His cock was acceptable but unexceptional, and when it slipped inside me, he always came within a minute or two, leaving me teased but not terribly satisfied. But he was hot, popular, and highly-sought after by other girls, all of which counted for a lot at the time.

After we'd been dating for about a month, we were spooning in his bed one evening when he leaned towards me.

"You know," he said. "My birthday is coming up."

"I know. It sucks that we won't be able to spend it together." His birthday was over Thanksgiving break, and Tad was flying back to Maryland to be with his family.