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When I was in college, right around the age of twenty, back before I inherited the name Sunshine, I was Heather. Heather Camillo. Well, one day I found myself in the football locker room, one fist wrapped around one guy’s cock while my lips slid up and down another’s. I was planning on fucking both of the guys before leaving the room. They knew it too.
I alternated between the two dicks, one giant size, the other quite small, but I’ve always liked them in all different shapes and sizes. I was fighting back my gag reflex on the larger cock when I felt the smaller one in my hand let loose. Cum bubbled over my knuckles and coated him, giving me the lubrication needed to pump his dick harder and faster.
His moans were too loud. Much too loud.
Within seconds I heard giggling behind me. Then all out laughter. The guy whose cock I was sucking pulled out of my mouth and covered himself up quickly. The cum bubbler did the same and suddenly I turned around to see the locker room full of the rest of the football team and cheerleaders.
The cameras flashed.
The laughter seemed to switch to evil cackling.
My heart sank.
I was the school whore.
I was twenty years old and I was already a well-known whore.
Of course after that getting a date wasn’t difficult at all but being taken seriously was. I tried to have a normal life but the past kept haunting me.
A party flyer went around with the picture of me on it, the one with my hand covered in cum and my mouth open in shock. It read: This Party Cums Complete with a Heather-Like Good Time.
I was a star without the benefits that come with fame. I was the worst kind of popular, the kind where every date you hope is normal ends with a guy pulling his cock out of his zipper in the car and pointing at it as if to say, “You know what needs to go down.”
That was my life.
And I was miserable.
I was so lonely and felt so cold. Who knew bullies existed in our twenties? It sounds absurd. But bullies are brutal no matter what age they are.
I thought I’d finally found my escape from everything when I met a guy from a far-away school. He wouldn’t know my reputation and I’d be able to go on a serious date.
So we did. It was great. And then it wasn’t.
We fucked. I’d told myself we wouldn’t but when you’re addicted to sex, you know no other way to end a date. I was riding him in the back of his pickup truck, parked by the lake, the moonlight shining down on us. He was filling me so good and I was so into him…into it…and then he said it. The words that ended me.
He said, “Charlie was right. Your pussy is un-fucking-believable.”
“What did you say?” I asked him.
“Oh nothing. Sorry. Keep going, baby.”
I punched him. I hit him right in the nose. Hard. Then he kicked me out of the bed of his truck. I was lucky enough to grab my dress before he sped off, spewing a cloud of dirt all over me.
I was alone again. Really alone. I stood all alone in the dark, lakeside, wondering how I was going to get home. Then it started to rain and I was cold, wet, and alone. That’s a hell of a way to be in at such a young age. I felt worthless. Unlovable. All because I loved having sex. It made me feel good. So why was I suffering because of it?
By the time I made it back to my apartment I was a wreck. I wanted to kill myself but how? Jumping off the dormitory roof seemed too violent. I couldn’t imagine closing my eyes and taking the leap. Even worse were my thoughts about the flyers that might go around following my death.
“Rest in Peace Heather Party. They came and she went.” I could imagine the picture of me with my hand full of cum superimposed over a computer-created gravestone.
I thought of all the ways to kill myself and all the ways I might be able to disappear after. Maybe if I threw myself into the ocean with a giant rock chained to my feet. Maybe that would do it. In the end I chickened out.
Instead, I quit school and I struggled. I worked as a waitress and even tried being a stripper. I can fuck but I’m not so good at moving along to a beat. I was waiting tables at the strip club when Rayko pulled me onto his lap and whispered into my ear, “This isn’t you. I can tell. I can show you how to make real money.”
That’s when I became an adult actress or what you’d probably call a porn star. Well, star isn’t exactly accurate. I did get a lot of views on the pay sites and won a few amateur awards.”
I love how Tension tilts his head. He’s catching on. He knows me. He’s seen my work. He’s jacked off to me before. I can tell. I can always tell. And I love it.
Tension snapped his fingers and nodded his head.
