The Stranger Inside Me

**All characters, locations, and events in this story are fictional and a product of the author's imagination. Feel free to leave feedback and let me know what you think. This story is my first**

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The definition of an acid is any chemical compound that gives off hydrogen ions in solution. A base on the other hand is any compound that accepts hydrogen ions in solution. That would be me I guess. The base. Basic Becky. That's what all my friends call me. Probably due to me being the boring pushover who's always taking on other people's trash. They would say that I'm that listening ear of the group; keeper of drama but owner of none, vicariously living life through her slutty and exciting friends. Boring and plain, Basic Becky. Hurts to admit it, but I guess they must be right. Why else would a young nubile girl like me be doing chemistry homework on a Friday night. It's a crime, really. A girl in the prime of her life, who will never have this perfect balance of youth and freedom ever again. And yet here I am, chained to my dorm room and already in my pjs. It's barely even nine. Ughh.

My friends and I joke about it. Haha another Friday night in, watching CSI with my cat! But I don't dare tell them of the deep emptiness in my chest that drags me down into the lower depths of wine bottles and two-for-one doughnuts at the convenience store. I don't tell them about how lonely I've been this whole time; just hoping, wishing that something, someone, would come along and fill me up.

The story is as old as Fall semester. Every Friday night, my friends have plans with dates, or guy friends, or fuck buddies, or parties to find potential fuck buddy-guy-friend-things, and I'm left with my own hot date with Freud, or Darwin, or the sexy proton. I swear I'm not as boring as I make myself out to be! One would be pleasantly surprised to discover that I'm not a virgin. Yes, that's right, Basic Becky lost the V before most of her friends. Point for Queen B. Though my friends love to remind me that I've only ever been with the one guy; my high school sweetheart of three years. The sex was vanilla and it was nice, I guess, but no one ever wants just nice sex. If you can imagine how a pastor might take his wife on their wedding night, that would be close to my sexual experience, minus the pastor outfit. That might have actually made things interesting. Nothing against my ex-boyfriend's competency in bed, but he was one of those well mannered, worship the ground you walk on, put you on a pedestal boyfriends. He's very pleasant and kind, but during my time with him, I found that pleasant and kind aren't exactly what I'm looking for. Sometimes a good girl needs something very, very bad for her. I haven't had a boyfriend since him. I don't know what I want and my friends never let me hear the end of it, always commenting on my forever single status. But still. It's not like I have a fear of getting intimate with men or something cliche like that. No. The truth is much more sinister.

The truth is that I am afraid of something else entirely. There is a part of me that no one knows about. A part of me that I meticulously try to hide from the world. But I feel it all the time. Trying to claw it's way out of me and bend me to it's will. I fear that should I ever give in to this sickness, I could never go back. There is a burning inside of me; a ravenous fire with flames that lick my innermost parts. An inferno that demands to be extinguished, and the only thing in all creation that can quench this fire deep inside of me... is cock. Long, hard, merciless cock. It's as if hellfire found a home in my pussy and used the sinful lust of all those in Hell as kindling.

A lot of the time I think something is wrong with me. How could anyone get urges like mine? It's not the particular desire that sets me apart, but the degree in which I shake for it. Some mornings I wake up feeling like I just need to get fucked. Like an animal in heat, I just need someone to take me, hold me down, hurt me, and pound me like they're putting out a Christmas present that's caught fire. But I am afraid. If I ever let this inner slut out, I will never be able to reign her back in. Once I cross this boundary, my good girl ways will part forever. And so I have to be ever vigilant. Should my pussy get a taste of big, bad cock, even for a moment, I'll know that I've lost the battle over self. Even my friends, bastions of sex positivism, would feel disgust and violation when they see all the sin that's been hidden in me rise to the surface; to discover there has been a lion in the wolf pack this whole time. But they can never know. A part of me has wanted it, yearned so badly, for so long that it takes everything to keep myself in check and out of dangerous situations that might slippery slope into sweet regret. Even if that means staying in and doing homework on a Friday night. Even if that means being labeled the basic good girl. This is the cross I carry. My name is Becky Summers and I am the cage holding in the world's biggest whore.

I put my textbook down and decide that's enough chemistry tonight. For a little bit there I felt like the textbook was stringing along the word Becky every time I read the word basic. Spend enough time with my friends and enough time alone, and these things tend to happen. 9:15 PM. It's feels good to be in my pajamas already, but what I gain in physical comfort, I give up in feeling connected.

My cell has three unread messages on it: Veronica, Abby, and Katie, all asking me to come out with them to a frat party tonight, all promising they'll get me get laid. I wish I could go. Just to be around other people and not trapped inside with my books all the time. When college girls think Friday night, most of their thoughts effervesce into a tangent of foamy beer, dance your ass off music, and please-fuck-me-now-guys. But when I hear Friday night, I think of those things too, yes, but also how these things will never happen to a time bomb like me. I wonder if anyone else understands this feeling.

I nestle myself into my futon and flip through all my shows. One after another, a sequence of seen its, and not interesteds fly by. When you've spent enough Friday nights in as I have, you essentially earn a Minor in primetime television watching. Now it really doesn't take a lot to interest me, but tonight's programs just seem to be especially boring. Of course, as I look into the abyss of the screen and think boring, the screen stares back and sees a single girl in her sloth pajamas on a Friday night and thinks to itself, likewise. But I'm not the type of person who would allow herself to be insulted by a TV.

I've gotta get out of here. I'm talking to the TV again. I shut the it off.

The party isn't an option, as much as I would love to dance and hangout with my friends, I just don't have that level of trust with myself. My phone rings again. Great, how many times do I have to turn them down I ponder as I unlock the screen. Not the expected message from my friends, but an alarm pops up. An alarm I had set earlier that month, reminding me that the release date of Chainsaw Witch King opens in theatres tonight. Fuck yeah! I'm a huge fan of cheesy awful horror films, perhaps since my life so closely resembles one. My friends and I have a tradition of seeing these god-awful, low budget horror flicks together and we had previously made plans to see this on five dollar Wednesday. Buuuuut. Seeing as how they are elsewhere and I'm dying here, I don't think it would hurt anyone to preview this film ahead of time. They won't care; they know how I love these films and how I can watch them again, and again. I get pumped about this new turn of events and strip out of my pajamas.

Now to precursor, I'd just like to tell you that I'm one of those girls who don't wear a lot of underwear. It's late Spring anyways, who has the time to wear panties in this heat? My wardrobe is stocked for the weather, and I pick out one of my most recent purchases: a pink, strapless, summer dress. I'm of the opinion that the decision to wear a strapless dress can say a lot about a girl. A girl who bares it all in public, neck, shoulder, collarbone, and back, is a fearless thing, and like all fearless things, they should be feared (and respected). Tread lightly, all who wander. The skirt reaches just above the knees, leaving ample skin, the best kind of candy, as well as retaining a little mystery. Just because I can't partake in sex, doesn't mean I don't like to turn the other sex on. I do one of my notorious five minute makeup jobs and I'm on my way.

The theatre is a fifteen minute bus ride away in the heart of the city and it seems the whole world has come out tonight. People everywhere walk the streets, old and young, alone and together. I blend right in as just another face under the bright city lights, trying to make her way. Who knows what sorts of people I'll run into tonight.

It's midnight and the theatre is dark and empty. Just the way I like it. We have the usual hardcore cheesey horror movie fanatics here, myself included, barely filling up a fraction of the seats. They set up camp in the first few rows, proudly donning their Chainsaw Witch King t-shirts. I should have wore mine. I make my way to the very last row of seats, far from everyone else, and take my place in the dark. The room softens and the film experience begins.

In the midst of the cheesy trailers, as is the staple of cheesy movies, is when I first see him. He walks in with a palpable presence that makes me tense. His wandering eyes scan the room for just the right place to be. I stare a little too long like the awkward person that I am, and we lock gazes. Something about the way he looks at me makes me feel small and fragile. I like it. He smiles at me the way a rich man might look at cars at a dealership. I half smile back. He catches me off guard and heads in my direction. Oh shit. I can't tear my eyes from him as he approaches and I squirm in my seat feeling like the quintessential damsel tied to train tracks in old westerns as this silver foxed locomotive heads straight for me. This is bad.

"Is this seat taken?" pearly whites and dark features blind me for a second.

"No, it's free." I tell him while trying to strain back a smile.

"And what about you?" He grins.

I laugh and brush off the comment like he never said anything. He's a forward one. He sits next to me, with that contagious smile of his. This attractive specimen is old enough to be one of my professors, dark hair with silver linings all over. I wonder what his stubble would feel like against my skin. But of course, I'll never know, I could never let things get that far. Sitting next to him is bad as it is. I can't let things escalate. I try to think not sexy thoughts.. but the scent of Yves Saint Laurent cologne hits me and I melt. There's just something about a man who smells good. I slip away further.

Lights darken, and the film starts. We have the whole second half of the theater to ourselves. I have difficulty focusing on the movie with the stranger sitting next to me. And maybe he's having difficulty focusing too. I cross my legs and my skirt hikes a few more inches. He adjusts his seating position and I see him smiling to himself out of the corner of my eye. An unacknowledged acknowledgement.

I'm such a bad girl. I shouldn't be teasing him like this. But I can't help myself.

As all horror movies do, the film progresses to one of it's over the top, gratuitous sex scenes. I admit that one of the few things the Witch King movies always get right are the sex scenes. They're always so primal, and passionate, and raw. Just what I've always imagined great sex to be like. I turn slightly and glance his way. To my surprise he's looking right at me, unperturbed by my glance. He continues his gaze and smiles, challengingly. I can tell the kind of man he is. Fearless. Bold. And a betting man. Unfortunately I've always sucked at poker. My face blushes as red as the lipstick I'm wearing. He can see right through me. How turned on I am by the movie scene. How I squeeze my crossed legs tighter, hoping he can't pick up on how wet he's made me; this perfect storm of events; my horniness and this willing man sitting right here. It's like he knows that there's an inner slut in me. Some kind of sixth slut sense. The way a snake might lick the air and taste the scent of prey. I'm in trouble.

The man leans in my direction and wraps his arm around me, his hand clasping my bare shoulder tightly. Oh. My God. The warmth of his embrace sends waves down my body and I slip a little more. Is this really happening right now? With a bravery I didn't know I had, I reach down and set my hand on his leg, giving his inner thigh a squeeze. Fuck! what am I doing?! It's like I'm not in control of myself. As if muscle memories from a previous lifetime as a slut take control, trying to never let me forget what I am inside.. and how I long for someone to explore and feel inside me.. I push out my chest for him. My shapely breasts strain against the neckline of my dress, offering him a bountiful view of my cleavage; perky orbs of flesh that have caused many a men to double take. I know he likes it. His hungry gaze surveys my body and causes my pussy to quiver. I don't know what's suddenly gotten into me.

He looks up from my chest and stares at me with a hunger. I've been watching him watch me the whole time. His old grey eyes look into my young green eyes. Somehow, at that moment, we both just know. In an instant, I feel warm, wet lips grace my neck. I turn my head aside and expose myself for him. I haven't been kissed in a long time.

He kisses harder. His mouth sucking on my neck, and his teeth just grazing my sensitive skin causes me to vicegrip the armrests and dig my nails into the covering. I try my best to hold it together. My eyes close and I take in his lust and his want. I bite down on my lip to help keep my heavy breathing at bay, but it can only do so much. God it's been so long. His arm pulls my shoulders in closer as he kisses my neck like a succulent desert after a long fast. The feeling of being wanted on such a fundamental level turns me on and beckons the demon inside me. I want him to want me.

On some deeper level, I guess I've known this dance my whole life, and like the slut that I am, I take my cue for the next step. As he continues to kiss me, I reach up and tug down at the top of my dress, letting my right boob tumble out for him. My nipples have never been so hard and I have never been so turned on. My escalating act gives him pause; I feel him smile into his kiss. His hand reaches down from my shoulder and grabs a hold of breast. His hand feels warm and weathered; large, but not quite large enough to grab all of me.

I guess my tits are just a little more than a handful for him, I smile.

The stranger starts kissing my clavicle and his finger traces the outline of my perfect pink nipple. He pinches my tit and I am surrounded by him. A wave of pleasure and pain resonates from my breast and I can't help but squeeze the armrest to my right, and to my left I squeeze... something else..

I literally don't even know when this happened but I find my left hand over his pants, gripping his engorged cock and what a thick cock he has. Now this is what I call a handful. My pussy pulses at the thought of his cock, how exposed and hidden it is. The thought that I was the one who caused it to grow so hard juices my pussy lips. I start giving his cock long hard strokes. Jesus Christ what am I doing? I can't believe what's happening right now. But still, my hand keeps moving.

"Mmmrrppphhhh" He moans into my neck and it is the hottest sound in the world. I open my eyes and glance down the theatre. The closest people to us are nearly twenty rows away with eyes forward. There's no way they can hear us with the film going on.. But the idea of an unsuspecting viewer turning around and looking back at us excites me.

He lightly bites my neck and sends me in swoons. I start to rub his cock faster. I can feel it getting harder and harder. The whole situation has me in such a frenzy that my pussy might have a heart attack. I spread my legs wide in the chair, and my skirt hikes to my upper thigh. He glances down as he kisses me and responds accordingly. A broad, olive colored hand snakes its way up my naked leg. It's been so long since a man has touched me; I'd almost forgotten what it's like. Thick fingers inch their way up my pale skin, under the brim of my dress and I wonder if perhaps I've ever been touched by a man before..

His breathing slows. Mine does too. I hold my breath in anticipation. And like an itch that only he can reach, his gentle fingers run up my wet, hot pussy lips.. I audibly exhale and release, squeezing his cock in pleasure.

"No panties? You naughty girl" he breaks to whisper. I respond by putting my hand over his, and press it against my pussy. If there was ever a point of no return, I just sprinted across it for the gold. My pussy has a mind of it's own and I just mindlessly follow.

First one finger slides in. Then another. Sharp, electric sensations resonate throughout my body. He starts fingering me while rubbing my clit with his thumb. Good god, I didn't even know this was a thing! He's hitting everywhere at once and it ALL feels good. I can't help but moan from the stimulation and he quickly removes his hand from my tit and covers my mouth, muffling my cries of pleasure.

"Shhhhhhhhhh" his hot breath whispers into my ear, his lips just grazing my lobe. His hand is tight around my mouth and I can't be quiet. In the moment, I don't care if the whole world sees us. I just feel so lost in him. I try my best to stroke his thick cock, but I can barely focus with his fingers gunning me down below. It's like I'm having a sexual experience for the first time, his methods are so good. His experience shows.

I decide to up the ante. In one swift motion I remove his hand from my pussy and move it towards my lips with my own soft hands. I don't know how I got here or why I'm doing this now of all days.. but I look him in the eye... and take his index finger into my mouth. I feel like my whole life I was just some chemical waiting for the right catalyst to come along. To transform me. And what do you get when you combine an acid with a base? Salt and water.

I taste the wet salty fluids on his finger and slowly work the whole length into my mouth. We maintain eye contact for what feels like a short infinity. I remove his finger and give him a naughty little smile. Very quietly and very carefully I get up from my seat and gently kneel between his legs. He has a devilish grin on, but he doesn't know that I'm the biggest sinner here. I lick my lips and undo his belt buckle. It's been awhile for me, but I'm hoping it's like riding a bike. And if not, I'm all for experiencing first times again.

I pull down his boxers. His cock doesn't spring up like a younger man, with nothing held back. No, his cock, while hard, rests like a patient predator silently stalking. I pick up this thick guy in my hands and marvel. My face must have shown some kind of astonishment because he breaks out into a small chuckle. This is one heavy cock. By far, bigger than my last. My pussy starts juicing even more as I wonder what such a monolithic thing would feel like inside a little girl like me.

I spit on the cock and start stroking the wet shaft. Up. And down. He leans back into his chair and sinks his head in pleasure. Like riding a bike. I bring the tip to my lips. I've never been afraid of a cock before, but this.. This will be a test. I give the tip of his intimidating cock the lightest of kisses; the softest of touches. My hand grips the base of his dick. Here goes nothing. I take the head of his member into my mouth and begin to lavishly suck and kiss it. My jaw stretches and I swallow more of him. Almost on reflex he starts thrusting into my mouth. I'm not even sure if he's aware he's doing it. Further and further, his cock reaches into the back of my throat and I start gagging; my eyes water and my vision blurs.