Night Hosting: Claiming an R.A.

I have held many different jobs on campus, but I found a job this year that I truly enjoy completing: night hosting for the college dormitory I reside in. I should have been slightly discouraged when I attended the initial interview for the position to find I was one of only three female co-eds applying for the male dominated job, but I felt the opposite. I prefer to keep myself surrounded by the company of men; whether they be my friends, co-workers, peers, or play things. The interviewers had tried to scare me from the position by telling me real-life, horrific incidences that had happened to prior night hosts. When they asked for what I would have done in such circumstance, I had to stop myself from laughing at the bullshit college students were capable of, long enough to give a straight answer other than: 'allow for them to continue their actions, so see how long it took for them to learn their lesson from their own stupidity'. The interviewers must have liked my more thought out responses once I caught myself; I was the only female added to the night host team for my building this year.

Mentally, I have inherited the Amazonian like characteristics typical of the women in my family: I am confident, stubborn, sarcastic, and at times, aggressive. Physically though, I am the black sheep being the shortest person in my entire family, the one with the fairest skin, the only with freckles, and the only with blonde in my hair—though it is a light auburn in actuality. Even with my height deficiencies at home, I am still tall for a college student in general: towering over almost all of the other female students, and some of the male students too thanks to my Germanic heritage. I am blessed with a very shapely frame thanks to my Germanic heritage as well, and possess the stereotypical blue, almond shaped eyes. Apparently, my build was one of the reasons why I was chosen for the position; even though I was encouraged not to restrain violators of campus policy unless absolutely necessary. They try to take the fun out of everything on campus.

I rarely sleep, and if I do, it is usually in the form of naps for an hour here or there, and I do not care for the atmosphere of house parties, so the hours required for the job fit my lifestyle beautifully. On my scheduled nights, I, and another night host, are to set up a table at the front door of the building at nine when all other doors to the building lock for the night, and the residential advisors—or R.A.s—go off duty. We are to stay at our post until just after the last scheduled bus makes its final rounds on campus to bring home our drunken, partied out, and usually ashamed of themselves, peers. We have to sign in any visitors to the building, once an hour one of us is to tour the building for any mischief, and if we come across anything suspicious, we are supposed to contact the campus police, and then work with them until the matter is resolved.

I attend a state school in the middle of nowhere, and such a large campus in such a small town guarantees that the college students are always causing some bit of trouble every weekend. Normally, I am not a fan of drama, but I do love some good old fashioned public humiliation of others, and while night hosting, I am always treated to hefty does of it. I have never night hosted during a weekend without being toughly entertained by the stories my fellow residents provide for me.

I love to work on Saturday nights in particular, especially when the fourth floor of B-side goes out together for the evening. They are routine drunks; in that they have a solid routine for how they will act once they arrive back to campus. All of the young men and women living on the co-ed floor all come back together on the 3 a.m. bus, they all move as one singular blob in an attempt to carry one another from the bus stop, through the building, up the stairs to their floor, and then they all leave their doors open as they strip so that they can discuss their evenings with each other in the hall while they change. All the night hosts know this routine, and depending on who I was hosting with, I would usually have to fight for the right to be the person to go on rounds after that particular bus load came into the building, but I always won.

As a result of knowing what awaited for me after the 3 a.m. bus, it was not difficult to keep myself awake until then—spending hours in silent arousal at the thought of your own personal peepshow will keep anyone awake. The show, however entertaining, does nothing for release though, and after the excitement dies down on B-side for the morning, seeing myself through the rest of the shift can be even more pragmatic. Not because the fun is over and my sense of sleep depravation can finally catch up to me, but because I know I will call one of my playmates at the end of my shift for a booty-call to alleviate my pent up arousal. That gave me something new to look forward to, and to keep me excited until then, while I contemplated which one I wanted to call. There was no such competition last semester. My favorite knew my habits well enough that if I was working on a Saturday night, he would set an alarm for himself early Sunday morning, and meet me at the front door of my building at the end of my shift before I could even think to call anyone else. Damn him for graduating early.

It was not uncommon for the night hosts to have visitors, or even to have an R.A. visit our table throughout the evening if they could not sleep, and wanted some companions to talk to for awhile. But, if an R.A. had gone out to party for themselves, they would usually walk by us as quickly as they could, and not sit with us to avoid being seen drunk by their residents. It is a dry-campus, and the R.A.s are supposed to uphold this unattainable air of purity; to be the epitome of excellent student behavior as an example to their residents. Trevor was the exception to the rule, but then Trevor was the R.A. from the fourth floor of B-side where rules went largely ignored.

It was obvious that Trevor was drunk by the way he came stumbling into the front door, held up one finger in front of his face while laughing, retrieved a chair for himself, and then sat next to me in a fit of laughter. I ignored him, continuing my homework, while he slowly calmed himself. Trevor leaned over his chair, brushed my long, strawberry-blonde hair free from my shoulder, and put the side of his face to rest on my shoulder, causing me to tense upon contact. "You are so incredibly gorgeous," he breathed lightly, almost sighing to himself, "have I ever told you that?"

"I don't believe drunk speak." I smirked, watching his reflection in the glass doors in front of our table. "If you would like to talk to me, and have me believe you, you better sober up." He frowned at my reflection before he looked around me to look over the other night host present, and then turned to look directly at me, face to face.

"I don't need to be sober to tell you, honestly, that you are far better looking than she is." He nodded toward my co-worker while he looked at me, and I laughed as she shot him a nasty glare from around me.

Trevor is...average; I guess would be the best way to describe him. He has a cute face, and he is tall, but there is nothing about him—to me—that would stand out as an exceptionally attractive characteristic. He was nowhere near the physique of the type of guys I usually pursued, but that did not stop me from flirting back with him whenever he initiated. I love to flirt, and to tease, regardless of the awkward situations I usually found myself in as a result.

"Why don't you go sleep it off, Trev?" The other night host snapped at him, and he shook his head before turning back to watch the front door.

"No can do, flat-chest. I had gone out tonight with my floor, but I somehow lost them at a party, and I would prefer to wait for them here to make sure they all come back safely." He readjusted himself in his chair, and replaced the side of his face to my shoulder. I watched him turn his face to look down my shirt.

"You lost them, or they ditched you?" I asked sarcastically while I lifted my hand to flick my finger across the back of his exposed ear. He quickly straightened himself in his seat, rubbing his ear that I had flicked, and staring at me in confusion.

"Please." He breathed. "I'm too cool for anyone to ditch me. My floor loves me. You'll see. When they come back, they are all going to ask where the fuck I've been."

"They'll all be back at three o'clock; plenty of time for you to get a solid nap in. Besides, they did you favor by ditching you. I'm certain it's against the rules for you, as a residential advisor, to be out partying with your residents. Especially your residents, seeming how most of them are freshmen, and that your activities of boozing up under-age students, would be illegal." I giggled to myself, watching him recover from my actions.

"Like I care that it is. Good for me then, I guess, that I know you know how to keep your mouth shut." He turned to look at the other night host. "How about you, not-sugar-tits? Can you keep your mouth shut?"

"I wish someone would make you keep your fucking mouth shut." She growled at him as she picked up her headphones to drown him out.

"How do you know I'll keep my mouth shut?" I teased him, watching the mischievous smile form across his face. He actually looked cuter when he knew he was about to cause trouble.

"Oh lady, have I heard some really hot stories about you," he teased me playfully, "but funny thing about that, is I've never heard anything like that out of you personally. We talk all the time, you and I, and yet, none of that has ever come up before. You seem to be very discrete, and you hold on to secrets very well, don't you? Even when your play toys tattle on their mistress to others, you keep silent about it all." I was not sure which emotion he was trying to express with how drunk he still was, but I was sure he thought he had caught me with some great secret.

"I'm no mistress." I laughed him off, watching the reflection of my co-worker become increasing more uncomfortable next to me. I wondered if she had anything playing through her headphones, or if she was actually listening to our conversation. "Sadistic switch, yes, but mistress, no. Trust me, there is a huge difference."

"Bullshit!" Trevor smiled broadly. "I haven't a fuckin' clue what a switch is, but I know what kind of kinky shit you've been up to. Thanks to that senior jar-head last year, rumors are everywhere. Didn't a group of girls petition for you to teach a class last year, to give them instructions for how to tame their own bad-boys, based on his stories?" I laughed, shrugging off his question while I recalled the incident. Fuck those bimbo, sorori-whore, bitches; the sluts could not tame, and train a poodle if they all worked together at it. "I found even more dudes willing to confirm his stories, this year." Trevor beamed. "All of fucking campus is well aware of what you're capable of, and they all either fear the shit outta you for it, or secretly love you for it. Personally, I think that is the hottest fucking thing, ever." I laughed him off again, and returned to my homework on the table in front of me.

I continued to largely ignore Trevor as he slowly sobered up next to me, babbling to himself every once in awhile. He wondered off on his own on occasion, but he would always make it back to the table by the front door to sit with us while he waited for his residents to come back to the dormitory. While on one of his excursions, my fellow night host insisted that she should be the only one to go on rounds—instead of having us alternate—so that she could not be left by herself with him at the table. I agreed to pacify her unjustified hysteria, knowing I would still be the one to check out the building after the return of the 3 a.m. bus regardless of what she had to say.

After returning to our table from a shower, Trevor ordered a pizza for the three of us to share just after midnight, and after he had some food in his system, he seemed to sober up faster. At one point, very early in the morning, he started to laugh at himself. He motioned for the other night host to remove her headphones from her ears, and once she did, he apologized for what he had said earlier to her. He turned to look at me with a shy smile, but he did not apologize for any of his earlier actions as far as I was concerned, which intrigued me slightly while I wondered how honest he had been with me before. He certainly had not lied about calling the match-stick of a girl next to me flat-chested, no matter how rude he had been with the accurate remark. I thought about how we had just fallen into our roles as friends when we met at the beginning of the year, and smirked to myself; maybe he was a bitch in search of someone with a stronger will than his.

Fourth floor B-side did not disappoint, they did not deviate from their routine, and Trevor watched as his residents all filtered into the building together just after the three o'clock bus drove through campus. Now sober, he chastised a few of his residents as they passed without a word to him, and he seemed disappointed at their lack of caring for his where-a-bouts. "I'm going on the next round with you." Trevor snapped while he looked after his residents drunkenly trying to navigate the hallway as one massive, sloppy creature.

"Like hell you're walking with me." The other night host snapped back at him while standing from the table.

"I'll go." I offered, standing with her, and stretching for the first time in hours. "I need to walk for a bit, and I won't mind if Trevor tags along with me." She nodded and sat back down, glaring at Trevor still. He quickly stood, and followed after me as I headed down the adjacent corridor for the staircase. "Are you upset that your children don't revere you in the way you thought they did?" I teased over my shoulder to him as I walked, and he huffed loudly from behind me. "Oh come on," I egged him on, "that must have been a rather rude awakening for you. You should tell me all about how crushed you feel over their betrayal."

"I know what you're doing." He hissed from behind me as I reached the stairs. I shrugged, walking up the stairs with an exaggerated swinging motion in my wide hips with each step, knowing he could watch the way my ass swung back and forth as I ascended the staircase in front of him. I heard him inhale deeply, and I giggled to myself over his frustration. "You think it's funny to tease me after what I told you, don't you?"

"I find it amusing to tease you regardless." I corrected him, walking out into the next hallway, and visually inspecting doors as I passed them.

"So it is true then?" He breathed, catching up to me to walk beside me. "The stories of macho, body-building assholes finding their way into your bedroom, to leave mentally shattered; broken of their bad-boy personas, and reshaped into humble, manor-using, gentlemen are true?" I laughed, watching him out of the corner of my eyes for a moment before continuing to look about the hallway for any wrong doing. "That's fucking true, isn't it?"

"I was not aware that I held such a reputation." I whispered, turning to look at him outright while I winked at him. He froze in the middle of the hallway, his entire face radiated an expression of pure shock, which caused me to smirk. I left him where he stood, and continued with my task, sure he would catch up to me once more when he could better control himself, but I had not predicted how he would react once he caught up to me again.

I was caught completely off guard when I felt a hand placed upon the shoulder that Trevor had rested his face on earlier. He moved quickly, gently forcing me to turn toward him while he backed me against the wall before I could react. As soon as my back pressed against the wall behind me, Trevor had leaned over me, and had his lips pressed hard against mine. I stood, unmoving, while I registered what he had just done.

"I'm sorry." Trevor chuckled, pulling away from me slightly, realizing I had not reacted positively to his movements. "I...um..." He staggered, searching for the right words while I watched him, attempting to restraint the anger growing inside of me. "I want to be completely honest with you, but I don't want you to laugh at me. Promise me you won't laugh."

"I'm not promising shit." I growled at him through gritted teeth. "You better have a very good fucking explanation for why you felt you had any right to throw my ass against a wall like that."

He swallowed hard. "I really do think that you're gorgeous, and you have to know that I like you. I flirt with you all the time, and you always flirt back. I'm...curious. I think, I think the whole dominatrix thing would be really fucking hot. I mean, I don't like you any less because of knowing it, and I watch porn of women dominating men, and get off on it all the time, but..." I waited for him to answer, noting he started to shake slightly while he thought about his explanation. "Promise me you won't laugh." He repeated, sounding desperate.

I rolled my eyes. "You're nervous because you don't know if you would actually get off on it in real life, because you've never been fucked by a dominating woman before. You're not sure if theory is reality, and you would like to experiment with the idea. There's nothing about that that's funny, and many men have confessed that same secret before you. Why would I laugh?" He shook his head, and took a deep breath.

"Never...been fucked...before...period." He breathed as quietly as he could. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from laughing, not because of his being a virgin, but because of how hard he had acted throughout the year to conceal that fact. I had seen him with multiple girlfriends during the school year, and none of them had ever complained about his lack of sexual skill. I wondered silently to myself how he had been so unsuccessful with all of them thus far, when many of them had attested to being very satisfied in their relationship with him. He was obviously ashamed of himself, standing in front of me, but I held no pity for him.

"I don't touch virgins." I informed him as delicately as I could while still angry, but I knew my voice sounded cold. "They get far too emotional for me to handle, and I almost always end up hurting them on some level; even when I don't mean to."

"I...I think that's what I want though." He stammered. "I keep trying to get my girlfriends to be more assertive, and controlling, and they always chicken out on me. They never feel comfortable with what I ask for from them, or they want me to role-play as the controlling lead for them, and so I stop it there. I never try to sleep with them, and am always the one to end the relationship. I'm choosy, and none of them have met my standard. I've never asked a woman to take my virginity before, not because I've never had the opportunity, but because I didn't want them." His explanation intrigued me; I could make him toughly regret that decision.

"A lot of my guy friends hated their first fuck. Either they were out of their heads drunk to just fuck some slut and get it over with, or neither of them knew what they were doing, the guy lasted all of eight seconds, and the girl never called them again." Trevor laughed nervously. "I consider you to be a really good friend, I mean, I did just entrust you with one of my biggest secrets, and I know you have experience in the matter. I'm not trying to call you anything, or imply anything about you, so please don't take it the wrong way, but that's just fact, right? I don't want to be another one of the guys that shrugs off their first time as some blundering chain of unfortunate events. I would like for an experienced woman to show me what I've been missing, and I've been waiting for that woman."