Alexander Grant, Hopelessly Average Worker Bee

Some men are born to greatness. Some men are born to infamy. Some men are born with their fates already cast in the tapestry of the stars, their lives crimson-cut affairs that indelibly stain the very world with the color of their deeds. When you were born, destiny managed to shrug and offer a grudging 'Good Enough' before turning their attention to more interesting matters, and if anyone could be bothered to read your fate in the tapestry of the stars, it would read 'THIS SPACE FOR RENT CALL ROCCO LIMPONI FOR LEASING AND STORAGE'.

Because while some men are born to be heroes, you were born to be boring.

Your entire life you've been the middle of the class, the center of the rankings, the dully acceptable average of everything you happened to turn your efforts towards. You quietly graduated high school, quietly attended an aggressively middling state university, and were quietly hired by a very boring company. You are the Platonic Ideal of Keeping Your Head Down. You are the Trefoil in the Girl Scout Cookies of Men.

And you are currently roaringly drunk, and kinda lost.

Look, it's not your fault, alright? Your boss had suggested that the department get drinks after work, and while she didn't specify that you needed to come, the guy in front of you and the guy behind you started moving and that didn't leave you with many options. It's not as if you had other plans beyond shuffling around your apartment and listlessly flipping through Netflix. At this point, it isn't even your dull life that bothers you, but rather that irksome glimmer of hope for something more exciting that lives deep within your chest and refuses to fully die. You honestly wish that you could just be content to melt into your beige life, plugging comfortably away at your beige job and eventually marrying one of the beige women who cycle into your life every few months to raise a few beige children who are even more average than you are.

But just when you think you've finally accepted your lot, fucking life comes along and dangles a flash of excitement under your nose just long enough for you to muck it up.

This morning was a perfect example. There you were, the doors of the elevator just starting to close, when who should appear down the hall but the girl from 4G. God, she's so unlike every single one of the girls you've ever dated that you're a little surprised her smile doesn't make your skin melt like she's the opened Ark of the Covenant. She's tall and fit, her short hair a punky bleached blonde and the hazel eyes behind her stylish glasses sparkling with a humor that instantly makes you tongue tied. You think she's a yoga instructor or something, though that's almost entirely based on the fact that she always seems to be in leggings that cling to her long legs and heart-shaped bottom and a snug hoodie unzipped enough to reveal a hint of the big boobs packed into her sports bra.

You have no business with a woman like that. She is a Triple Black Diamond, and you aren't even the Bunny Slope. You're sulking in the ski lodge with a broken leg. You were so caught up in categorizing the many ways that she is utterly out of your league that you entirely missed that she was waving for you to hold the elevator door until it's too late and they definitively shut, leaving you with a parting look of her mildly annoyed face as you berated yourself the entire ride down.

And so when you found yourself crowded into the bar with the rest of your work colleagues, you immediately knocked back the drink that was placed in front of you and didn't let up. Because why not? Maybe you can drown that stupid glimmer of hope tonight and be done with it forever. The first drink didn't do it, and neither did the second or third, and now whooee~, it's pretty late and you guess it's time to go home? You waved off someone's half-hearted offer to give you a lift, and now here you are, traipsing through what you hope is the park but may very well just be the goddamn woods with your jacket hanging limply in one hand and your tie in the other, blearily trying to remember which side of the tree moss is supposed to grow on and whether or not that information would actually help you.

You quickly decide that no, it wouldn't, and so you plop down onto a rock with a groaning sigh. It's not that you want to make waves, Fate, you really don't. You fully understand that statistically speaking someone has to be in the middle, and if that person is the same person every time then well, that's probably pretty convenient for everyone involved. You don't even hate your dull life, if you're being totally honest. It's just...would it be so much to ask for just one entry for the highlight reel of your life? Couldn't you win an award, or solve some mystery? Maybe you could go hang gliding!

Or maybe, if it's not too much to ask, you could lay the girl from G4 gently down under a tree just like this and make rapturous love with her for just one single night.

You grumble as your fantasies of tender outdoor sex with the object of your neighborly lust causes a stir in your pants, Lil' Alexander perking up at your memory of G4's wobbling chest and bright smile. At least Fate didn't see fit to curse you with whiskey dick, though upon further reflection being a half-undressed man sitting in the woods with a furious erection probably isn't the best look. And you desperately hope that the rock you decided to sit down on was wet, because you're suddenly realizing that the seat of your pants is increasingly damp. You stumbled back to your feet, turning around in a poorly considered attempt to get a look at your sodden trousers, when you find your eyes drawn inexorably to what you'd thought was an unassuming hunk of rock.

You rub your arm across your bleary eyes, groggily trying to clear your vision before refocusing on the rock beneath you. Okay, you're drunk? And horny? But doesn't it sort of look like...well, a butt? You squat down, holding your breath as you inspect the mound of granite jutting out of the soil. There's no two ways about it, it looks for all the world like a shapely feminine ass, erupting coquettishly from the earth to offer itself to whomever is out in the woods for a midnight jaunt. You squint your eyes at the crevice between the two 'cheeks', something glistening within the stony folds. Is that..? You hesitantly reach down, then gasp and wrench your fingers back when they touch something soft and pliant, coming up wet.

Again, you're drunk and you're horny. But you are like eighty five percent sure that this rock has a pussy.

You stare down at the rock for a long moment, Lil' Alexander refusing to back down as he throbs unrepentantly in your overmatched pants. Well, you did say you wanted just one moment of excitement, didn't you?