Doubts and Distractions

It had been an entire week since that impulsive selfie to Marcus. Seven long days, each one dragging on with the kind of torturous, anxious weight that made every small moment feel like an eternity. You’d checked your phone obsessively, replayed that night in your head a hundred times, but there was… nothing.

The silence was driving you and Liam to the brink. It was as if all the energy, all the confidence and excitement that had built up over the past weeks, had deflated, leaving a hollow, aching uncertainty in its place. Even Liam, who was usually the source of boundless enthusiasm and encouragement, had started doubting the whole plan.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered one afternoon, sprawled on the couch in your shared dorm room, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he mulled over every possible outcome. “He was clearly interested that night. I mean, he gave you his number, didn’t he? And the selfie was a home run! I just… I can’t figure out why he’d ghost you now.”

You sighed, pacing the room as you fiddled with the bracelet around your wrist. “Yeah, well, maybe he thought it was too much. Or maybe he’s just not into it after all. Or maybe he’s back with Victoria… Ugh, it’s like this whole trial is just slipping through our fingers, Liam. I don’t know how we’re supposed to get his attention if he’s just not responding.”

The truth was, the week had been a blur of self-doubt, worry, and, most confusing of all, a strange emptiness. The thrill and excitement of your plan working out had left behind a hollow ache that only seemed to grow with each day. It didn’t help that the goddess herself had been conspicuously absent, her usual flirty teasing and magical reminders nowhere to be found. You and Liam half-expected her to drop in any second, demanding why you hadn’t completed the trial or taunting you with her usual smug confidence. But there was nothing.

“What if we just… screwed it all up, and she’s just waiting to drop some terrible punishment on us?” you asked, voicing a fear that had been nagging at you both for days.

Liam shook his head, although you could tell he was just as uncertain. “Nah, if that were the case, we’d know. She’s not exactly subtle, is she? Maybe she’s just… giving us some time to regroup.”

“Or letting us stew in our own failure,” you muttered, flopping down beside him. “She’d probably love that.”

Despite the gloom of it all, there was one odd distraction that had kept gnawing at the edge of your thoughts, one thing that felt strangely, well… off. Over the past week, you’d noticed something—an almost imperceptible shift in your reflection, one so subtle that you’d nearly convinced yourself it was all in your head. But every time you caught a glimpse in the mirror, you’d pause, staring, trying to pinpoint exactly what had changed. It was like the shape of your face had softened, the angles more delicate, especially around the eyes and cheeks. It was subtle, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. And then there was the whole issue with, well… lingerie.

You had, for lack of a better word, fallen into a rhythm over the past week. Every day, you slipped on a bra and panties, which had already felt surprisingly natural. The bras—lace-trimmed, soft pastel colors—had somehow become a staple in your wardrobe. They sat comfortably against your skin, and each time you clasped one on, you felt incredibly comfortable, and oddly, in your own skin. And the panties… Those were something else entirely. There was an undeniable sensuality in the way they hugged your hips, in how they felt against you, a secret layer beneath your clothes that no one else knew about.

It wasn’t just the clothes, either. You’d found yourself more aware of the way you moved, the way your hips swayed slightly, or how your hands rested on your hips when you stood idly. It felt bizarrely natural, as if Aphrodite’s influence had crept in, subtly rewriting the way you carried yourself. And each night, lying in bed, you could feel that strange, new awareness buzzing faintly just under your skin.

Then there was… the other thing. The fact that this growing sensuality, this awareness of your own body, had come with certain impulses that you hadn’t anticipated. You’d noticed, embarrassingly, that the lingerie—especially the bras and panties—left you feeling more aroused than you cared to admit. It was a quiet but persistent feeling, one that had tempted you, on more than one occasion, to pull out the dildo you had. But each time, a mix of nervousness and embarrassment held you back. It felt strange, using it while feeling like this, while looking like this, despite your truth of who you really are.

Then there was Michelle’s text, reminding you of yet another responsibility: she wanted you and Charlotte to meet with her for a casual chat before the big initiation. The timing couldn’t have been worse. You barely had the focus to keep up with classes, much less charm your way through another round of sorority formalities.

“Are you sure you’re up for this meeting with Michelle?” Liam asked, glancing over your shoulder at the text as you stared at it, almost hoping it would disappear.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Not really, but I don’t have much choice, do I? This whole thing with Marcus has me completely distracted, and now I have to act like I’m totally fine and ready to be the model big sister for Charlotte.” You slumped back on the bed, feeling the familiar weight of the bra straps against your shoulders, a subtle reminder of the strange duality you now inhabited.

“Maybe it’ll be good for you,” Liam said, offering a small, encouraging smile. “It’ll get your mind off Marcus, and hey, it might even give you some practice. You’re pretty good at keeping up appearances now, you know?”

You gave him a rueful grin. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just… a lot to juggle. It’s like every part of my life is changing all at once, and I’m not even sure where I fit in all of it anymore.”

“Well,” Liam replied, “if anyone can figure it out, it’s you. I mean, you’ve already come this far, right? And Aphrodite or not, you’re doing an amazing job.”

His words gave you a small measure of comfort, even as the uncertainty still churned inside you. And as you went through the motions of preparing for yet another round of sorority meetups and the endless waiting for any word from Marcus, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, restless energy building inside you. The thought left you both frustrated and terrified, a reminder that you were still on Aphrodite’s path, and there was no telling what lay at the end of it.

The familiar scent of cheap Chinese food wafted through the dorm room as you and Liam dug into your takeout containers. You were perched on your bed, chopsticks clumsily scooping up fried rice, while Liam sat cross-legged on the floor, battling with a container of General Tso’s chicken. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but there was something comforting about it—the greasy food, the soft glow of your desk lamp, and the buzz of conversation filling the room.

“So,” Liam began, slurping up a noodle with expert precision, “how’s History 2103 treating you? You’re still working on that ancient civilizations paper, right?”

You groaned, leaning back against the wall as you rubbed your temples. “Yeah, don’t remind me. It’s due in a week, and I feel like I barely understand half of what I’m reading. We’re supposed to analyze primary sources about the role of religion in daily life in Athens, but it’s like… I don’t know. I just keep thinking about Aphrodite and getting sidetracked.”

Liam snickered, nearly **** on a piece of broccoli. “Yeah, Aphrodite might have skewed your perspective a little. Honestly, though, it sounds kinda fun. I mean, better than Business 3025 with Professor Shurman. The guy sounds like he’s lecturing to a group of zombies, and I have no clue how I’m gonna survive the group project. We’re supposed to do a financial analysis on a hypothetical company, but my team can’t agree on anything.”

“Yikes,” you replied, swirling your rice around the container. “Group projects are the worst. I’m just trying to keep up with Psychology 2010 right now. Professor Singh has us analyzing behavioral case studies, and we have to submit this ridiculously detailed breakdown of a patient’s cognitive biases by next Friday.”

“Why do we put ourselves through this?” Liam asked, grinning as he raised his egg roll in mock toast. “To ancient civilizations, financial analyses, and cognitive biases—cheers to that.”

“Cheers,” you said, laughing as you raised a spring roll in return. The food was delicious in that slightly questionable, borderline unhealthy way that only college students could truly appreciate.

You’d dressed down for the night, trading your usual jeans and sweaters for something far more comfortable—an oversized, heather-gray hoodie that fell well past your hips and a pair of shorts that hung loosely around your legs. Beneath the hoodie, you wore a simple white lace bra, a piece that felt strangely comforting and unobtrusive, and a pair of matching panties—low-rise, soft, and just slightly snug against your hips. The bra wasn’t push-up, but the lace was delicate and sheer, leaving a slight trace under the hoodie if someone looked closely enough. You found it grounding, almost like armor, though you’d never admit that to anyone.

It was strange how natural it felt to wear these now. You’d gotten so used to the light pressure around your chest, the subtle tug of the bra straps over your shoulders, and the gentle way the panties clung to your hips. Every once in a while, you’d catch yourself smoothing down the lace, almost like a habit, though it was a detail only you seemed to notice. Liam, of course, was entirely oblivious.

As the conversation meandered through other classes—Liam’s struggles with Philosophy 1101 and your upcoming Biology 2200 lab on gene expression—your phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table. You glanced over, expecting some kind of spam email or another notification from your class group chat.

But instead, there it was—a single text notification.

The sender? Marcus Chase.

Your heart skipped a beat.