Becoming Someone Else

Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be someone else? You know, like imagining you were an astronaut, or a rocket scientist, or a movie star? My guess is that you have. I do too, but with me it's different. I wish I had a different personality. I wish that I were a different person. I imagine that I am not so damn proper. I do.

I waste a lot of time doing it, because I imagine I am a different person sexually. I don't mean of a different gender or anything. I mean a person who is more outgoing, more willing to be sexually adventuresome. I guess it's what you would call a fantasy. For me, it's a sexual fantasy. I'm kind of obsessed by it.

I'm a college sophomore, attractive by most accounts, and quite conservative by nature. I'm not conservative politically. No, I'm a flaming liberal. Think major flames.

But in my lifestyle, I'm very conservative. What I mean by that is that I'm conservative in my daily life choices. I mean for example how I dress (always proper, always correct, no body jewelry and God forbid no tattoos!), how I act (quiet and respectful, reserved), and how I sexually interact. I'm not a prude, but I have to like the guy a lot to engage in anything. Anything at all.

A result is that I can count the number of men who have carnal knowledge of me on the fingers of one hand. Actually, I can count the number of men with the rings I have on one of my hands (one ring is on my right hand, and two are on my left; you can guess on which hand the rings represent the number of men I have slept with). In case you do not want to guess, it's my right hand. One man. Only one man has ever enjoyed my body to the max. And he is now history.

My primary fantasy is that I am a slut. I think about being one of those girls who goes to a fraternity party expressly to get laid. Moreover, my fantasy woman is not fussy. Someone wants her? He gets her. Whatever he wants, she does for him. She is compelled to do whatever he orders. But it's just a fantasy. I could never be like that. Never, ever.

When I indulge my fantasy, however, I get so sexually aroused it's almost painful. I can Jill off for hours to that fantasy. It's becoming a little ridiculous. My fantasy is now quite detailed.

The opportunity came, however. In my business classes, we're taught that when opportunity knocks, answer the door with a smile!

My friend Stacy invited me to visit her at her college for the weekend. Stacy and I went to high school together, and we always had tons of fun. Mostly we just love to talk to each other. I was for once caught up in my school work, so I decided to treat myself to a weekend off.

I got a ride there from an electronic ride board. When I got to Stacy's room, it was like heaven on earth: we gabbed constantly. We did not even take a break for dinner until 9pm. We can be real chatterboxes. Then Stacy got a text. She got very excited.

"I am a finalist for an internship this summer!" she exclaimed. "Oh Mary, I'm so sorry: I have to leave tomorrow morning, and spend the night in DC; I won't be back until Sunday night. I'm so sorry! You came all the way here and everything. Please forgive me."

"Of course, I do, Stacy. What a wonderful break!" I already had a great internship lined up for the summer, so I was not jealous, only happy for my best friend. "I'll take a bus back tomorrow."

"Yes, you can do that, of course, but maybe you should consider staying and enjoying yourself here? You can have my room, and my school is famous for its Saturday night parties. You could just have fun, meet some new people, you know?" Stacy said.

We had a lot to drink at dinner, and then had an old-fashioned pajama party in her room, just the two of us. I had pajamas, but Stacy had the world's sexiest nightgown. I could see her boobs right through it, and also the landing strip above her pussy. It was that transparent.

Looking at her nightshirt, and seeing her intimate body parts right through it, I said, "College seems to agree with you, Stacy."

Stacy giggled. "Men can't resist me when I wear this!" she said.

"Have there been a lot of men?" I asked.

"Oh, my goodness, yes!" Stacy said. "I'm a bona fide slut."

We got to talking. I won't tell you how many men had laid Stacy, but if you add my rings together and square the number, you won't be far off. I was shocked. We were only 19 years old. When did she have the time?

Our conversation became sexual. One of the great things about the two of us is that I did not judge Stacy for her promiscuity, and she did not judge me for my sexual reticence. Our conversation became so intimate, that I told her of my fantasy. I told her the whole shebang, including all the elaborate details. It is, by my own admission, quite an extravagant fantasy. It's an outrageous fantasy.

When I finished telling her, Stacy said, "Wow, that's a smoking hot fantasy. I never would have suspected it of you. Never." Stacy paused, lost in thought.

Stacy added, "Hey, here's an idea: Want to act it out while you're here?"

"Oh no! I could never! It's just a fantasy..."

Stacy played devil's advocate and we argued about it for quite a while. When I say argue, I mean that it was the type of argument with lots of giggling and pillows being tossed about.

Finally, Stacy summed it up: "Yeah, I understand. But just in case you want to fantasize about it some more, remember, I am the only person you know here, so it would be anonymous. This is a chance of a lifetime. And there is one special fraternity here where, if you are brave, you could go tomorrow night, just to see what happens, you know?"

She added, "The boys there are randy, to say the least. Let's just say they like sex. I know, I know, all college men like sex, but these guys like it even more than most."

"I have nothing to wear," I said.

"This town is small, but it has shops that sell sexy clothes. Come on, Mary - where there's a will, there's a way," Stacy said. Stacy could be trite at times. But she was right, and I knew it.

"I could fantasize about enacting my fantasy. Is that what you're saying? It's kind of meta, isn't it?" I asked, rhetorically.

Then she said, "Wait a minute. We're around the same size. Your boobs are bigger, you lucky devil, but you could wear my own 'come fuck me' outfit. God, with your boobs you would be so bleeping hot in it!"

"Your 'come fuck me' outfit?" I asked, somewhat intrigued, combined with amazement. I never used language like that. Nor did I ever even think like that.

"Yeah. Did you bring a push-up bra?" she asked.

"Stacy, I don't even own one!" I said. I was beginning to feel strangely inadequate.

"Maybe you could wear mine. You might look as if you are spilling out of it, but hey, that's even sexier for the boobs men. And that's good. All college men are boobs men," Stacy said, giggling at her own remarks. "One of my best friends is gay, and even he is a boobs man!"

We had some more wine, and then Stacy bullied me into trying on the outfit. The bra did not seem, a priori, to be so bad: if was a 36B, and I'm a 36C. Is one cup size off such a big deal? I tried on the outfit, but I refused to look in the mirror.

Stacy said, "Oh my God, Mary, you look totally gorgeous! No man on earth could resist you, dressed like that. Just don't talk politics, okay? Liberal politics at this school are not a turn-on. These men think Trump is the second coming. Talk about anything else, you know?"

"Thanks for the advice, and the complement on my looks, but I'm not going to do this, you know," I said. "I'll fantasize about doing it, sure, but I won't do it."

"Okay, okay," Stacy said. "But do me one favor and look at yourself in the mirror, okay? And when you do, imagine yourself with some slutty make-up on, okay?"

I knew I had no choice: Stacy was not the kind of girl who gives up. I went to Stacy's full length mirror, looking at my feet. I slowly panned up. My long legs looked great, and they seemed to go on forever until they reached the bottom of the shortest skirt I had ever worn. It barely covered my crotch.

I swallowed, and continued to pan above my waist. When I got to my boobs, I gasped. They were practically all on display. Stacy's bra was too small, and half of my (rather large) areolas were exposed. My nipples were barely covered. Plus, my boobs were pushed up and together.

The low-cut blouse, a better description would be very low-cut blouse, contributed to the theme of a lack of modesty. I gradually recovered from my shock enough to be able to speak.

"Why wear slutty eye makeup? All the men will look only at my boobs, unless they're behind me. Then they'll look at my legs and my ass, especially the way this tight skirt hugs my ass. And if I were to move wrong, they'll be looking at my panties," I said. "I'd have to go buy sexy panties tomorrow to complete this outfit."

"Good idea," Stacy said. "There's a nice lingerie store downtown, called 'Mary's Intimates.' I arched an eyebrow. Mary, after all, is my name. "Really! That really is its name," Stacy added. "Or, in your fantasy, you could go the route of the exhibitionist slut and skip panties altogether! I've done that on occasion with that skirt, you know."

"For real? What happened? You have to tell me!" Stacy did. That's another story in and of itself. Let's just say that if Stacy was starved for sex before she went out in that skirt and without panties, she was most definitely not by the end of the evening.

"Yeah, it was a bit embarrassing walking home. I was so full of cum it was dribbling down my legs, with no panties to stop the flow. Gravity can be such a bitch," Stacy said, and then we both devolved into a massive case of the giggles. "And I did not even like the guy. But isn't that often the case with one-night stands?"

I of course had no idea. I did not answer her rhetorical question.

The next day Stacy left at dawn in order to get to DC in time. I had the entire day to myself. It was chilly, but otherwise a beautiful day. I put on my light coat and took a walkabout. Two hours later I had seen the entire town.

On an impulse I returned to "Mary's Intimates." This was no Victoria's Secret wannabe. No, this store had the real thing. Smooth, silky, lacy and see through underwear imported from France and Italy. The saleswoman there was helpful. I ended up leaving with the sexiest push-up bra on Earth, with its matching panties. Their color was a soft lavender. They were from Italy, and they fit my body perfectly.

The woman (whose name was Sarah, according to her name tag) explained I was not a C cup as I had always thought. No, I was a D cup, and with a little underwire I wore the most comfortable bra I had ever worn. None of this was cheap, however. My Visa card was getting a good workout, approaching my credit limit. The fact that I was in actuality a D cup explained why I spilled so generously out of the cups of Stacy's B-cup push-up bra.

I went whole hog and bought a nightgown that rivalled Stacy's. I modeled it in the store, and when I looked in the mirror, all of me was on display, right through the nightie! Boy, if I wore that for a man, well, we all know what would happen!

Actually, I left the dressing room, commando, to show it to Sarah, the saleswoman. This was enormously out of character for me. Before today, had I ever even tried on such a nightie (which I would not have), I would have kept on my bra and panties under it as I left the dressing room. This was some aspect of my fantasy induced new me!

There was another woman around my age shopping in the store, and she had her partner with her! They must have entered while I was in the dressing room. Oh, shit. I was completely on display in front of the man, her partner, who was staring at me with his mouth falling open. Channeling my friend Stacy, I did something completely out of character: I twirled around, showing off my nightgown and also my body from all angles (since it was totally see through) to this lucky man.

The man said, "Lady, get that nightgown, or I'll buy it for you!" His woman slapped him, but he just chuckled. I ran back to the changing room and came out dressed. I quietly bought the bra, the matching panties, and the nightgown, blushing furiously at my earlier folly. I kind of enjoyed the man leering at me as I made my purchase. My face felt warm, and I knew it was red from my excessive blushing.

I left the store, not knowing what had happened to me. Well, that's not completely true: Stacy's words, and my fantasy to be someone totally different, had begun to take effect. I was toying with myself. I was actively fantasizing about doing my fantasy! I was tempting myself by buying the clothes. But they were just for me, to wear under perfectly acceptable clothes. Nobody would know about them. I was not acting out the fantasy; it was still a fantasy.

I was wet down there from my flashing with the see-through nightie. I walked around for a good half hour completely turned on. As turned on as I was by my flashing of that lucky guy in the lingerie store, I was equally stunned by how turned on I was. I had never before flashed anyone, other than my old boyfriend long ago, and that does not count, since we were already sleeping together. I realized I had struck some kind of chord. I wanted somehow to experience this kind of sexual excitement again.

I went back to Stacy's dorm room and donned my new underwear. I then put on the same clothes. What a difference the bra made! Suddenly my boobs looked spectacular under my clothes. Wow, I thought: the right bra can make a huge difference. Who knew?

I took myself out for a lunch. I went to a coffee shop that had nice looking sandwiches and salads. The salads were for the coeds, and the sandwiches were for the men. I'm not being sexist or anything, it's the truth: Every woman eating was eating a salad, and every man eating was eating a sandwich. The café had Wi-Fi and there were also plenty of people there with an empty coffee cup and an open laptop.

All the tables were taken, so I picked one where a good-looking guy had his laptop open and was busy working. He also had the requisite empty coffee cup. I was carrying my lunch, and I asked him if I could use the empty seat at his table, since there were no free tables.

He looked up from his work, saw me and in particular he saw my boobs poking at my slightly too tight blouse. He closed his computer, gesturing to my boobs (and, I presume, the woman who owned them) to have a seat. He gave me a big smile.

Well, it turns out I lucked out with the table I picked. Once the guy recovered from his study of my boobs, we got to talking and we hit it off. This guy was great! He even shared my political views. But then he suddenly said goodbye, and he left to go to one of his classes. He had not asked for my telephone, email, or Facebook; nothing. I got sad, and yes, I again felt a bit sexually frustrated. I had thought, perhaps that very night, that he might have been my first ever one-night stand. Oh, well.

I walked around some more, went to see the library, and some of the campus buildings. I really had nothing to do. I did not look forward to a boring night alone in Stacy's dorm room. She did not even have a TV. The idea of a fraternity party was beginning to look appealing.

I began to think more about my fantasy. I could go to the fraternity party, where I would know nobody. The first man to put the moves on me (if one did, that is), could have from me whatever he wanted. He just had to tell me what to do. I would follow orders, "no holes barred." Being a submissive like that for one night only, where I knew nobody and nobody knew me, was an idea that really turned me on.

I could have my first one-night stand, and be a submissive for one night only, and do it anonymously! This would indeed be the chance to live out my fondest fantasy. It was perfect!

It was perfect, that is, except for one thing: I lacked the courage. I knew that all I would do would be to return to Stacy's room, cry myself to sleep into a beer, and maybe let my fingers do the walking through my pussy, for some relief. How depressing.

When I did get back to Stacy's room, deciding to skip dinner since the salad had been quite filling, coming with hard boiled eggs and baked salmon as well as lots of greens, I was very depressed. I decided to toy with myself, and I got dressed as Stacy suggested. I wore my new bra, which fit me better, rather than Stacy's bra.

I looked prettier in my new bra, but not nearly as slutty as I did in Stacy's bra, where my nipples were tantalizingly close to being exposed, and anyone and everyone would see half of my areolas, and tons of boob flesh. Thinking about people seeing me, I began to relive the high I got from the incident of the man seeing me in my new see-through nightie, at the lingerie store, earlier that day.

I finished my beer, and cracked open another. Stacy had a vintage issue of the magazine Playgirl, and I read it cover to cover, giggling at some of the dated items in it. I was sitting there, reading soft core porn, dressed to kill, and all alone. This would not do.

There is a movie theater in the town. I did not want to see any of the movies playing, but I thought I would go for a walk, with the theater as my destination. I put on a light coat to ward off the cold, and my come fuck me outfit was hidden underneath it. I had to pass the fraternity house Stacy had told me about. It was right on the way.

I could hear the music spilling out of the fraternity, and I saw a couple of hunky looking guys tossing a Frisbee back and forth on the lawn. I was now super horny. Movie, or Fraternity party? Which was it to be?

I texted Stacy. I told her I was in front of the Fraternity party, dressed as we discussed, but too scared to go in. Stacy texted back she was with a man she had picked up in the hotel bar, he was married, but she was going to take him to bed anyway. If she can do that, I can go to a damn party!

Stacy texted again: "Make that two men. The hunk has a friend. Should I do it?"

I knew Stacy wanted to do it. She had never taken on two men at once before. I knew her entire sexual history by now. This was one of her fantasies. I texted back: "I'll do my fantasy, if you do yours"

"Deal! I want a full report when I return tomorrow!" Stacy texted.

"Me too!" I texted.

"No problem. Got to go. I'm being mauled, and he wants to undress me. Oh my God, what nice cocks! Have fun, bye," Stacy texted. I wondered if she was making this up to help convince me to do my fantasy? It could be. But knowing Stacy as I do, I'd guess she texted the truth.

Before I could convince myself that this was a bad, possibly a very bad, idea, I walked right up to the door of the Fraternity House. It was open, so I walked on in. The music was too loud, and there was an unlimited supply of beer, and a cherry flavored punch that was undoubtedly heavily spiked with vodka. There was a sign saying you must be 21 to drink the punch. I am 19.

I was immediately handed a plastic glass filled with punch. I thanked the man who handed it to me. I removed my coat somewhat dramatically, and he whistled when he saw my body. I smiled back. "Where can I hang my coat?" I asked.

"First bedroom on your left, top of the stairs," he said. I climbed the stairs, added my coat to a large pile on the bed. I heard a girl moaning in the next bedroom. The door was open, so I took a peek: she was naked, and was getting royally fucked. She was on her hands and knees and was being taken from behind. She was facing the door, so our eyes locked. Then hers glazed over in some sort of state of bliss. I was so jealous of that tramp. Why couldn't I be like her? I knew, though, that I could not.

I went down the stairs, now scared about what I might be getting myself into. I had finished my punch, and another man handed me a second glass. "Welcome to Phi Omega Omega, my pretty," he said.