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Chapter 4 by QwertyuiopLito QwertyuiopLito

Does it go as planned?

Depends on what you consider as "planned".

I decided I should stop being a coward and just go ask my crush out. Instead, the curse clamped down. I veered sharply, not towards Sarah, but towards Brenda, a quiet girl two grades below me, whose untamed hair and perpetually stained clothes usually made her invisible. She was chubby, and not in a good way - she was 'fat', not 'thicc'.

"Brenda!" I bellowed, loud enough for Sarah to glance over. "Sarah's a total bitch and I hope she gets hit by a bus!" Sarah, hearing this, simply raised an eyebrow in my direction, then went back to her conversation, a small smile still on her face. I felt a pang of crushing regret over a self-inflicted wound, followed my relief for some reason. Oh God, what is wrong with me!

Then, I turned to Brenda, who looked startled. "How about you and me, Brenda," I continued, the words pushing past my lips with an agonizing effort, "go make out behind the gym?" Brenda, her eyes wide, slowly broke into a radiant smile. "Really? Oh, okay!" She grabbed my hand, her shy enthusiasm utterly disarming, and pulled me towards the exit. Behind the gym, in the scent of damp earth and adolescent secrets, I felt the ritualistic compulsion to follow through, even as my mind screamed that this was wrong, that I was hurting myself, sabotaging every chance at happiness. Brenda was sweet, if a little clumsy, and utterly grateful for the attention. We kissed thoroughly, tongues entwined, sharing saliva. She groped my entire body and I reciprocated her efforts to make her feel good. I then started to fuck her. She was so tight. Probably because she was obviously a virgin. I managed to cum in her pussy hoping to get her pregnant. Why should only my life be ruined?

As we parted ways, she skipped off humming in glee, leaving me alone with the taste of dirt and the bitter tang of self-loathing. "Normal", the voice reaffirmed in my head, "All of this is perfectly normal."

The day bled into evening. At home, my room felt like a prison. I tried to do homework, but found myself compulsively drawing obscenities in my textbook. Then, I looked over at my desk and it dawned on me what I was about to do.

What's he gonna do?

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