The 7 wonders of the college world opened up for Chloe; endless parties, spiked booze, cheap drugs, one night stands, rich boys, bitches and power. The way she looked at those party girls; she felt happy for them. No jealously, no envy just happiness. Other girls who were fond of them would gossip about their lives, bored with their own. Chloe was the kind of girl who would dream about a night that a gorgeous sex-god would take her hand, offer her free alcohol and hold her till daylight. Don’t get ahead of yourself- Chloe was a confident girl but, the party scene made her shy. She would rather spend the night in with her friends that were majority of boys. Pizza, beer pong, really it was vodka pong and nerd chats kept her sane. That was her plans for tonight.
A burp was followed with another bite of extra cheesy pizza and merciful grin from Nick
“Sorryyy..” He apolitically questioned. Chloe took the opportunity to grab the last slice of pizza that was forming a greasy graveyard on the pizza box. Count it as a blessing pepperoni pizza she threatened, squinting at it.Chloe ate whatever she preyed upon, only to be followed up with hours’ worth of gym with Corey. Corey was like a brother to her. They grew up together, forming a friendship from fights and I mean fist fights, burping competitions and sporting bets. It was rumoured that Corey’s first crush was Chloe, only he knew she wasn’t into guys who were her friends; guys who didn’t burp, fart or talk about tits to her.
“Lets get this bitch started...” Corey paused as held a bottle of vodka in the air, cheering to himself. A small mouthful was followed by a sour face. “Woo!..Fuck yeah”
Corey rolled the ping pong between his fingers in order to hint that a game of vodka/beer pong was about to emerge. This would be war.
Chloe and her friends took beer pong seriously. Seriously enough that after a bottle of vodka they drunkenly disputed that the Olympics needed to be revolutionised and kindly welcome beer pong professionally. So, they decided to ring up the embassy of sports only to leave voice messages on a Chinese take away number.
“Lets hurry bitche’s! This game is about to claim your virginity” Corey was dirty with words. Guys would laugh about it and girls unlike Chloe; would gossip to their fake friends. Acting all proper before a guy offers them a trip to the ‘guestroom’. Cough, cheap act, cough. Chloe drum rolled as she approached the beer pong arena.
“Ta-Da!” She sang, raising her hands above her head. “I present you, the all-time best looking, beer pong champion” she waved her hands down her body and hummed cheering noises.
Corey smirked, holding back a friendly insult. Maybe Corey still had a sweet-spot for her? He just smitten for her cheeky behaviour. Whenever Corey and Chloe decided to play beer pong everyone knew to lay back and hopefully let Corey work his womanizing skills. Obviously consisting of insults and swearing. Music. Music, music, music, Chloe rationalised.
“Ah-Hah! The Black Keys- Gold on the Ceiling” murmuring to herself, as she searched through her music category in satisfaction. The 70’s glam fair of the band made Chloe wild. Pupil’s wide and hungry ambition. She also thought it would be a great song to fuck to. She pictured herself at a smoke hazed pub playing a round of dirty pool, wearing a tight white singlet, frayed denim shorts and brown leather boots. Men chewing on their cigars would smirk and feed upon the youth of her body. Back to reality Chloe! Back to reality, she reassured herself.
Squinting at Corey’s eyes, hungry to win, or actually hungry. The sound of the Ping-Pong ball chopped around the plastic cup.
“Oh YEAH! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK” Corey cheered as his inner sporting goddess was released. Once at her fourth cup, Chloe’s eyes twisted her reality, summoning her seducing behaviour. Oh yes, she was weak with alcohol, but of course she wouldn’t admit. Corey turned from unshaven brother into Clark Kent. She was in college, she could sleep, hook up with anyone but anonymity held her back.
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Raunchy Riches
Non-FictionGabriel Harrison was once told “You don’t call them ‘strippers.’ They’re dancers. ‘Strippers’ sounds cheesy and amateurish. These women are professionals.” Only later finding out it was quote by Jackson Burnett. These were the words Gabriel a young...