For the most part, Danielle was a pretty good housemate. She didn't leave messes, or steal food, and she always paid her share of the bills on time. We typically got along and considered each other friends. Things weren't perfect, but they were good. Issues arose from time to time due to our personality differences, but it was never anything serious.

Danielle was very much an alpha female. She seemed almost incapable of experiencing fear or insecurity; she would take what she wanted and do as she pleased. I'm sure a lot of people thought of her as a raging bitch, but I didn't. It wasn't that she didn't care about other people; it was just that she refused to put her needs beneath their needs. I admired that. I secretly wished that I could be more like her.

I'm not Danielle's opposite, but I often felt like it. I'm no doormat, but I could never be as bold as she was. I think in many ways living with her intensified those feelings -- I was constantly seeing how I wanted to be but never could. I couldn't fault Danielle for it, of course -- she was just being herself. Still, it often made me feel like a child by comparison.

Danielle had a habit of using those insecurities to her advantage. When she needed someone to tag along with her to any social event, she was always quick to make me feel as though I had to go with her in order to be taken seriously as a grown-up. I don't think there was any malice in her actions; I think she honestly thought that she was doing me a favor by forcing me to be more social.

That Friday night was fairly typical of our relationship. I had wanted to stay in and just hang out around the house, but Danielle had other plans. She had met some guy online and was planning on meeting him at a local bar, but didn't want to go alone. I resisted a bit, but as usual she made me feel as though it was inappropriate for a single woman of my age to sit around playing video games on a Friday night. Realizing that arguing with her was futile I tossed on a jacket and accepted my fate.

I knew what was going to happen from experience. We'd meet the guy -- usually some conceited douchebag who was as hot as he was stupid. We'd spend an hour or two in the bar while Danielle ignored me and pretended she was every bit as air-headed as he was, feigning interest in his boring-ass stories about the life of a male model. Once she was satisfied that he wasn't some serial killer we'd all head back to the house. She'd take him into her bedroom, I'd toss on the headphones and log in to vent. Ignoring the loud sex noises I'd do my best to convince myself that I was happy with my choices -- sure, mind-blowing sex might be fun, but we had raid progression. That's just as good, right?

Entering the bar, we took a seat at a booth. We were a bit early, but that was probably by design. Danielle liked to get comfortable before her date arrived; she said that it was always a good idea to be more on balance than he was. Danielle tended to view dating as a form of combat, and she always wanted to have the advantage.

"Try to cheer up, Faith," she encouraged. "I promise you, Azeroth will be safe for a couple of hours without you."

"This just isn't my thing," I explained. "I don't like bars."

"I know you don't," she sympathized. "But you're here anyway, so try to make the most of it? Who knows, you might meet a cute guy -- and god knows that you could use that. Honestly, Faith, I'm worried about you. It's been way too long; we need someone to knock those cobwebs out of your coochie."

I feigned polite laughter, but her comment bothered me. It had been a while, but it hadn't been that long. Just because I wasn't running my own sperm bank between my legs like her didn't mean that there was something wrong with me.

I thought about reminding her that my sex life was not her concern, but it was too late. Her date had arrived, and she had waved him over. For the rest of the evening, I could expect him to receive the entirety of her attention; if I wanted to have a conversation with her it would need to wait until tomorrow. With a heavy sigh, I watched him approach.

Trevor wasn't exactly what I expected, but he wasn't far off. He was big -- though he may have in actuality been only six feet tall or so, his large frame made him appear far more imposing. His features were extremely rugged; his pronounced cheekbones giving his face an almost militant appearance. Though his clothing was clean and well-matched, it wasn't the designer labels that I had grown accustomed to seeing on Danielle's partners. Most of the men Danielle associated with looked like underwear models, Trevor looked more like a particularly handsome bouncer. It didn't really matter, though -- I fully expected to never see him again after the next morning.

After making quick introductions, Danielle went off to grab us some drinks. This was pretty much standard for her -- she liked to give me a chance to get to know her partner and check for any red flags. I personally hated it. It was awkward, and even if I spotted something that she should be concerned about it wouldn't make a difference. If I managed to grab her attention long enough to tell her, she'd simply wave off my concerns as being overly paranoid.

"So," he began, "I don't mean to be rude here, but you look like someone just someone just slaughtered your puppy. Why the long face?"

"Look," I sighed. "Here's the deal: I'm really just here so that if you turn out to be an axe-murderer, Danielle has someone who can describe you to the police. You'll have to deal with my presence for a little while, then Danielle will take you home and fuck your brains out. We might see each other tomorrow morning, we might not; but we'll almost certainly never meet again after that. I guess what I'm saying is that we don't have to be friends, so let's just sit here in awkward silence?"

"Sounds dull," he commented. "Besides, you don't know that I'm not 'the one'. What makes you so sure that you won't someday be acting as the maid of honor for Danielle and my wedding?"

"Personal experience," I explained. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly her first. I really hope that you're not looking at her as a potential wife, because in her eyes you're nothing more than a notch in the bedpost. I'm not saying that she's a slut, but that's really just because she's my friend."

"That's rather judgmental," he observed. "Faith, let me ask you something: Why is it that if a woman has sex with a bunch of men, she's labeled a slut; but if a man does the exact same thing he's labeled a homosexual?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his joke, mostly due to how unexpected it was. Most of the men that had been in his position would have responded to my statement with a blank stare and an idiotic grin, having learned that they'd probably be having sex tonight. It was actually a refreshing change to get a response that involved polysyllabic words. Still, it didn't make sense to get too attached -- even if his IQ was above room temperature he was one of Danielle's men. Once she was done with him she'd toss him away like all the rest, and I'd never see him again.

Danielle returned with our drinks and took a seat. I was actually a little sad to see her return; Trevor didn't seem quite as vapid as her usual conquests and I was curious to see how he would fare in a conversation. I knew the ritual, though: I would now sit silently and watch as Danielle embarrassed our gender by making herself appear like an easily impressed five year old. Once she was certain that Trevor couldn't possibly feel intellectually intimidated by her she'd take him home, and that would be the end of my role in this.

To my surprise, though, the conversation was not about popular culture, fashion trends, and the usual meaningless garbage that Danielle's men usually seemed interested in. Trevor actually had a deep side, when he discussed current events they didn't involve MTV or what some random celebrity said to another random celebrity. It turned out that Trevor was actually a fairly interesting person; complete with his own set of unique beliefs. I found myself secretly hoping that he wouldn't be just another one night stand for Danielle; I honestly was enjoying his company.

None of this changed Danielle's role, of course. If anything, it made it easier for her. When she giggled like a schoolgirl and asked him to explain various concepts that came up in conversation she didn't need to pretend that she didn't already know. As the night progressed, I found myself feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

It wasn't that I was jealous. Trevor may have been hot, but he also intimidated the hell out of me. I didn't think he was a serial killer or anything, but something about his intensity just scared me. He seemed a lot like Daniele -- someone who would take as he pleased without the slightest concern for anyone who stood in the way. That kind of personality combined with his intelligence and easily weaponizable body just seemed dangerous.

I wanted to say something to Danielle, but it was pointless. She'd just shrug off any concerns that I had, and I'd look like an asshole. Besides, time was on my side. All I had to do was wait long enough for her to fuck him, and then he'd be gone. Instead, I just drank more and waited

After a couple more drinks, the time came. Danielle had determined that Trevor, much like virtually every man who had come before him, had earned the right to dump sperm in her. Leaving the bar with them I was eager to get home so that I could finally extract myself from the situation and pretend I had no idea what was going on. I wasn't looking forward to ignoring her passionate cries, but at least I wouldn't have to be in the same room with them anymore.

Arriving home, Danielle excused herself. This was also normal. I don't know exactly what she did at times like this, but generally there'd be about 10 minutes between when we all arrived home and when she'd call her partner to her bedroom. Usually I'd spend those ten minutes awkwardly pretending that her human sex toy wasn't standing around our living room, comforting myself with the fact that he'd be out of my hair soon enough. This generally worked well -- her partners were usually quite willing to ignore my existence while I ignored theirs.

"You look like you have something to say," he observed.

"Trevor, you can stop now," I sighed, taking a seat on our couch. "Look, in a couple minutes she's going to call you into her bedroom, and then you two can use each other's bodies to your hearts' content. I couldn't cock block you at this point even if I wanted to. You don't need to make conversation with me, you're already in."

"I don't need to do anything," he corrected, taking a seat right next to me. "However, we've got some time to kill, and I choose to kill it by talking to you."

"I'm ever so grateful for your generosity," I laughed, trying to mask my sincerity with sarcasm. The truth was that I did kind of want to have a conversation with him, but it didn't seem worth it. He'd be gone soon, anyway.

"You don't exactly approve of all of this, do you?" he asked.

"It's not really my place to approve," I replied. "You're both consenting adults, you both seem to understand what's going on; it really doesn't matter what I think."

"You're dodging the question," he shot back. "It might not matter whether or not you approve, but I'm curious just the same. Do you have some kind of problem with Danielle and I using each other for sex?"

"Honestly?" I answered. "I think the whole thing is just stupid. I know for sure that Danielle isn't who she's pretending to be -- in real life she's not some giggling bimbo moron. I'm guessing that you're pretending to be someone else, too, but it doesn't really matter. Just seems like a lot of bullshit effort when the only thing that either of you really care about is getting in each other's pants."

"So you object to the effort?" he clarified. "How would you prefer it? Should I have simply bent her over the table in the bar and had my way with her?"

Something about his tone sent chills down my spine. I knew he probably meant it as a hyperbolic joke, but I could see him doing just what he said. I could vividly picture it in my mind. He'd walk in, grab Danielle by the arm, toss her over the table, and use her body as he pleased. God knows he had the body for it -- he could probably restrain her with just a single arm, and he seemed to have the personality type that wouldn't feel the slightest bit of shame in doing something like that. Strangely, what bothered me most about the image was that it was Danielle -- not me.

"I didn't say that!" I argued, trying to regain my mental balance. "I guess I just think that sex should be something that involves more intimacy. Maybe I'm just not as cool as you and Danielle, but I just don't feel the need to sleep with guys whose last name I don't know."

"I'm guessing it's been a long time since you've known anyone's last name," he laughed.

"This isn't about me," I growled.

"I disagree," he shot back. "I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it's about. You see the attention that Danielle's getting, and you're jealous."

"Jealous?" I laughed, doing my best to sound incredulous. "Please. You might be mildly attractive in a potential felon kind of way, but I don't want you."

"I didn't say of me, specifically," he clarified. "Though, it's nice to know that you find me attractive. I think you're jealous of Danielle's situation -- she's getting all the sex she wants, and you're getting nothing. Tell me, Faith, how long has it been?"

"That's none of your fucking business!" I shouted at him. He was hitting entirely too close to home.

"That's a rather unique way to say 'too long'," he laughed, showing no signs of being intimidated by my volume. "Admit it, Faith. You wish you got just a fraction of the action that Danielle does."

"Fine, it's been a little longer than I would prefer," I admitted. I didn't much care for his tone, but I was feeling a little tipsy from the drinking, and it was the truth. "That doesn't mean that I'm hoping to bang a different stranger every night of the week. There's a comfortable middle ground."

"And you're nowhere near that middle ground," he interrupted, "which is unfortunate. There's really no reason you couldn't be, Faith -- you're not unattractive, despite what your manner of dress implies."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "There's nothing wrong with how I dress."

"No, there's nothing wrong with it," he agreed, "if your goal is to prevent people from determining your true gender. Honestly, you could have the most amazing tits in the world, but no one would know about them under that baggy shirt. Are you really so afraid that someone might find you attractive that you feel compelled to hide your body so completely?"

"Just because I don't feel like being mistaken for a whore doesn't mean that I'm afraid of anything!" I hissed.

"Then what is it, Faith?" he laughed. "Are your tits so monstrous that they must be hidden from sight at all costs? I highly doubt that's the case, but let's find out for sure. Lose the top."

"You can stop right there, cock bag," I growled. I'm not normally so confrontational, but the alcohol had given me courage. "I don't know what you think is going on here, but I am not Danielle's warm-up act. If you think that I'm going to show you my tits just because..."

Trevor quickly silenced me with a slap to the face. Though it didn't hurt all too much, it effectively derailed my entire train of thought. I knew that he could have hit me much harder, but I couldn't believe that he would do something so inappropriate. My mind reeling, I simply stared at him with my mouth agape. Looking into his eyes I saw no remorse or shame in what he had done. He looked like a hungry predator that had just spotted easy prey.

"I'd apologize for that," he explained in an inappropriately casual tone, "but to be completely honest with you, little girl, I'm not sorry in the slightest. In fact, not only do I feel absolutely no regret over hitting you, I'm fully prepared to hit you again. I might even enjoy it."

I had no reason to doubt his words. His body language left no ambiguity, even sitting down he managed to tower over me menacingly. I wanted to run, but I was paralyzed with fear.

"I'm not really in the habit of having to ask twice," he continued, "and I don't much care for being denied. I assure you that I'm fully capable of hitting you harder than that -- believe me, little girl, I can make it hurt. If you'd like to find out for sure, feel free to make me ask a third time -- I promise I won't feel bad about how I respond. However, if you'd like to leave it up to your imagination, you'd do well to lose the fucking top already."

I didn't want to find out how hard he could hit. Up close, I could really see how massive Trevor was -- hell, his palm was probably bigger than my head. I had no doubt that he could make it hurt, and I didn't want to find out exactly how much pain he could deliver. Without options, I pulled the top over my head, hoping to avoid any further violence. I figured that Danielle would stick her head out any moment, and this would all be over then.

Sitting there in my bra I felt tremendously self-conscious. I don't think I'm generally described as "ugly", but I have my share of body acceptance issues. It wasn't really that, though, as much as the feeling of vulnerability. I was half-naked, Trevor was still fully dressed. He didn't leer at my tits, but in a way that was almost worse -- his lack of a reaction was almost offensive.

"Danielle isn't going to like this," I reminded him. "She might be into some kinky shit, but I don't think she lists 'sexually assaulting roommates' as a turn-on."

"You don't have the slightest clue what Danielle is in to," he laughed, "and frankly, it doesn't matter. I'll let you in on a secret, Faith. Danielle may be an excruciatingly hot piece of ass, but she's hardly the only one. Even if I was sabotaging my chances with her here, why would I care? I've invested practically nothing into getting into her pants; I can invest just as little with some other slut and achieve the same success."

"So pick some other slut!" I cried. "Just leave me the fuck out of this!"

"What makes you so sure I haven't picked another slut?" he laughed. "Incidentally, it's rarely a good idea to tell me what to do. I'll let that one slide, as you didn't know any better, but I'd strongly suggest you not make that mistake again. Speaking of things that you seem to want me to let slide, you seem to still be wearing a bra. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I tell you to remove your top?"

I thought about arguing that "top" doesn't necessarily include "bra", but Trevor didn't seem interested in a debate over semantics. His body language implied that he was equally disinterested in waiting, as well. With no other options, I reluctantly stripped out of my bra. Feeling intensely mortified and vulnerable, I folded my arms tightly across my chest to conceal my nudity.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" he chided. "And hey, it turns out that you have nothing to be ashamed of. You have lovely tits, Faith. Why do you insist on hiding them?"

"Because I'm not a slut!" I cried. "I'm not like Danielle; I don't run around fucking every guy that I see!"

"Is that what you think of me?" came Danielle's voice from the doorway.

"Danielle!" I cried, embarrassed that she had heard what I said but relieved that she was there. "I didn't mean it like that, but you have to help me! He's trying to rape me!"

"Trevor!" Danielle exclaimed, doing her best to sound shocked. "You're not really trying to rape my friend here, are you?"

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