Wail

Nearly a week has passed since the horrors of Feronia, and the experience is becoming a distant memory. Although time isn't the only factor. The meditation and mindfulness has been helping. A lot! With each day, I feel more at peace with myself.

 My memories are still a bit spotty, but it doesn't worry me nearly so much. I'm happy. Actually happy. Things might not be perfect but they're improving. Even my relationship with Mamá is better. Although she still thinks I'm a slut.

I suppose I can't blame her for that.

The one thing the meditation doesn't help with is my sex addiction. In fact, it may have made it worse, since I'm feeling a lot less guilty about it.

In fact, since Monday, I've screwed three different girls. A classmate, my online hookup, and some stranger at the mall. Each experience was incredibly hot.

The classmate was a nerdy girl I don't nromally hang with, but who I'd asked to help me with my studies. I really couldn't remember what was going on with any of my subject even if the material was familiar, so I'd solicited Sue Campbell's help getting me back up to speed. Anyway, a study session at her place ended with us sixty-nining. What made it even hotter was I think she's straight. But she was desperate for a little attention and more than willing to do some experimenting. I'm looking forward to my next tutorial this weekend.

Gloria (my online friend) turned out to be an older woman and more than a bit of a dom. She works as a researcher at an urban environment lab, and at first glance, seems like an uptight all-business woman. She's about twenty-five or so with severely short brown hair and an impressive set of D-cups she keeps hidden under her work clothes with a boring bra. But, I'll tell you, they really pops when she changes into a latex bustier. I went over to her place, and we had take-out for dinner. Then, she put me through my paces with a strap-on until I could barely walk.

After school on Thursday, I'd gone to the mall for some new clothes. I picked out a micro-mini skirt and some crop tops to try on, and the sales girl asked if I needed a hand. She was a really cute Korean girl with her hair dyed platinum blonde. So, I told her, I need some help getting out of my clothes, and we wound up in the dressing room eating each other out. It was such a turn-on watching myself get brought to orgasm by her ministration in the floor-length mirror. Only a curtain separated the chamber from the rest of the store.  I knew at any moment someone might notice what we were doing or perhaps even walk in on us. The thought of being discovered made my climax even more intense, and I squirted a little, spraying both my new friend and the mirror.

After my morning alarm has rung, I lie in bed for a few minutes thinking of my conquests and wondering what might happen today. So, by the time I get up, I'm crazy horny. When I slip out of bed, I knock my huge vibrator wand onto the floor. This is by far my favorite toy. The padded head can be gripped in my thighs or cover my entire pussy region, and it has the power of an outboard motor. It's still a little damp from my before bed fun-time. I want to climb back under the covers and give it another round, but if I do that I'm sure to lose track of time and be late for school. So, I rush to the shower instead,

Thank goodness I'd set up a translucent mauve dildo in there with a suction cup on the tiles. I get the water nice and warm then step in and position myself so I'm impaled on the toy. I ride it while playing with my clit, and it doesn't take very long to cum. I slide off it and start lathering up my hair.

Out of the shower, I blow dry and put on my makeup. I go with pink lipstick, some heavy eyeliner, and a bit of violet eye-shadow. It's what I call my not-so-innocent look.

I have to wear a school uniform, so there's not much I can do with that. But I pick a black lace push-up bra and thong set. It's fancy and super seductive. I guess I'm hoping for big things today.

My new positive outlook makes me smile to myself. According to Mamá, she used to have to practically drag me out of bed because I was so reluctant to go to school. Now, all I saw was the opportunities. Maybe I'd snag a cheerleader. Or maybe even Ms. Cardozo, the math teacher. I caught her checking out my legs the other day.

I put on white stockings that stop just above the knee and don't quite reach my too-short plaid skirt. My black bra shows through my white shirt the way I hoped it would, and I tie the shirt-tails in a knot under my bust so my midriff is exposed. I pick out a gold butterfly belly-ring. And for a brief moment, I remember the silver owl I wore in my navel in the game. I wonder if I could find someone selling something like that online. 

Running my hand over my smooth stomach, I think about how sexy a tattoo would look. Maybe a bloom of flowers running from just above my pussy to just below my belly-button, running along the curve of my hip. It would stick out of the waist of my skirt or pants, but people would be able to tell it keeps going. It would lead their eyes and their filthy minds downward.

When I'm done dressing, I check myself out in the mirror, I look incredibly cute. Not to mention, completely fuckable. Perfect!

Of course, Mamá has to give me a hard time. "How is that not a violation of the dress code? I don't want to be called in because you've gotten yourself in trouble again."

"Relax," I say. "No one said anything about the way I dress the rest of the week." Well, none of the teachers or the principle, anyhow. My scandalous dressing had spurred everything from wolf-whistles to complements to mean-spirited insults from the other students.

At one time, the slurs would have had me in tears and regretting my choices. Now: "Fuck them!" 

Mamá is too busy going over some messages from the office to get dragged into an argument and she drops the subject.

I grab a high-protein breakfast bar, not having time to stop and eat. I pick through the box trying to decide on a flavor.

"Mamá, can I get a tattoo?"

"¡Dios mío! Why would you want to desecrate your body like that?"

"It would be cool." But I don't feel like fighting either, so I drop that request and make another one. "How about a boob-job? I wasn't as blessed as you were."

She looks me over. Perhaps mentally comparing my mosquito bites to her melons. She lets out a long sigh. "I suppose so."

I'm totally floored by her agreement. I fling my arms around her and kiss her on the cheek. "You're the best, Mamá! I love you!" She grips my hand in hers and gives me a look I haven't seen on her face before. It's wistful and tender. It makes me squeeze her tighter.

"Now, go. You'll be late." Although the words are gruff, there's a hitch in her throat.

* * *

After math class, I stay behind and make a pass at Ms. Cardozo. She tells me how she can't and how its wrong, but when I kiss her, she lets me put my tongue in her mouth, and her hand wanders up under my skirt to grab a bare ass cheek. Unfortunately, she then turns all prudish and pushes me away.

She'll weaken. Especially once I have my new boobs.

I manage to make out with Sue Campbell at lunch and convinced her to ask her parent to let the study session become a sleepover. 

But the best part of the day is when Gwen Holden corners me in the bathroom. At first, I think she's going to start something. I mean, she always seemed like a total bitch. She manages to be part of the in-crowd without being part of any of the sports programs. She's a major brain, but tall, willowy, and gorgeous. Basically, she has mean-girl written all over her.

As I'm reapplying some lipstick, she comes up close behind me. "You know, that skirt is so short that when you bend over like that, I can see your ass."

I do a quick breath in through the nose and out from the mouth that triggers a peace inside if me and prevents me from getting all angsty about this. I make eye contact with her through the mirror and say, "Do you like what you see?"

She steps closer and I can feel her warmth on the back of my thighs. "I do. I'd like to give it a good spank and then bury my face in it."

I'm in a complete state of shock, but manage to say casually, "That can be arranged."

Long story short, I have a date with Gwen tonight. The only thing tempering my excitement is my stress about what to wear.

I burst into the condo and race to my room ready to ransack my closet for my sexiest dress. But a reminder on my iBand stops me. I have to do my afternoon meditation.

I sit on my bed cross-legged and go through the lengthy exercises my doctor taught me. It leaves me feeling mellow. There's only me, in this moment, in this place. All my worries and anxiety is gone. There is no past no future. Just now. I don't know why I fought doing this for so long. It really has made thing so much better. And sex with a different women every day as well as guilt free masturbation is only the tip of the iceberg. I've finally started accepting myself and being comfortable with who I am. Not to mention, my relationship with Mamá seems to be improving. 

I'm really the happiest I've ever been.

"Trise!" Mamá calls.

I decide to go see what she wants. Maybe she's made an appointment with her plastic surgeon for me.

I step into the living room, but she isn't there. When she calls me again, it's no longer her voice.

The plush area rug seems to sink under my foot, and the room spins around me.

"Triste!"

I sink to my knees and my hands claw at the carpet, trying to hold onto something as the world slowly rips away.

"Triste!"

I'm suddenly on my back in a dark dank place. I roll over and my stomach heaves, although nothing comes out. 

"Triste, are you okay? Do you know where you are?"

I look up into Astra's face. But... how can that be? Did I pass out? Am I dreaming? The game is over.

"You're not real," I whisper.

"Listen to me. You touched one of the spider's orbs. You've been in a trance."

"No. I got out of Feronia."

"What? Look, we're in a dungeon. We're not safe here. You have to snap out of it. I don't know what it made you see, but the reality of it is that you're playing an Immersive Reality fantasy game run by a deranged AI. We're on a mission to get to a crypt to find a mystical scepter. Does any of that ring a bell?"

"Yes. But it can't be. I'm—" I'm about to tell her that I'm in the real world now. I have a date to get ready for and a big weekend ahead of me. But then everything rushes back in. I'm not Triste the high-school senior sex-addict. I'm Triste the Banshee. I'm Triste the college student—the very male college student.

My brain feels like it's dissolving.

I start dry-heaving again.

DemonRose

Hey! Hey!

It seems a few of you were a little disturbed by this interlude. At least, I kept it short. And just to reassure you, Triste's personality hasn't been overwritten. Just maybe a little confused.

I also want to say that I don't intend to demonize meditation and mindfulness here. I originally wrote this with the doctor giving her drugs and that came across as super sinister. So, I changed it to her getting into a state of mind where she's not concentrating on her past too much, so stops asking questions about it. But I'll understand if some still find it dark. I tend to get dark in my stories.

So, Triste has had a glimpse of an alternate version of herself. I wonder how that will affect her in the long run?