Snoop around: nightstand

How often are you going to find yourself alone in a hot cheerleader's bedroom? You plop your wet ass down on her bed and open the top drawer of her nightstand.

Pens and paper, a couple novels, some tissues. Your hand grasps a long, purple, plastic dildo, and you take a quick breath. You've never actually touched one before, and the device in your hand sends chills up your spine. You let yourself imagine where the toy has been and what it's done ... but then you notice something else on Rebecca's nightstand: a journal.

Unbelievable, you say to yourself, returning the dildo to the drawer. You tear the diary open, your heart beating furiously in your chest. You're enchanted by Rebecca's looping handwriting adorning page after page, and you quickly scan the most recent entries.

You notice that she doesn't go into detail about what happened That Night. You imagine it's too embarrassing for her even to write down. You do see vague references in recent weeks to "hanging out" with "my new friend, Sam." Your mouth runs dry as you read her sanitized version of your weekly peek-and-pump sessions with just enough detail to jog her lurid memories. "Helped Sam out with our special project again last night. The other girls have no fucking idea. Sam had a great time reviewing the project, and I got really turned on watching him."

Well, you didn't imagine her interest in you; that much is clear now.

You quickly read Rebecca's private thoughts about the other girls on the cheerleading squad--Leslie is a bimbo, Amanda is cool but a follower, Ariel is a nutjob, Karishma is a sadist, Madison is a complete bitch--wishing you could ferret the diary away to read at a leisurely pace.

You finally find what you didn't even know you were looking for. "Rachel still isn't talking to me. I wonder if she's talking to Sam? I do feel bad about what happened, but she also takes some blame for what they did to me. I still can't figure out if the whole thing traumatized her or turned her on. I'm betting she's totally repressed and secretly loved every minute of it. I wonder if I could get her to do more. Maybe-"

Your focus is broken by the sound of a closing door. You snap Rebecca's diary shut and return it to the nightstand.

Rebecca's door remains closed; you're still alone. You look around and see another door, this one leading to a bathroom. It's mostly closed, but from your angle on the bed, you can see that there's a second door on the opposite side. Rebecca shares a bathroom with her sister, you realize. And she must have just gone into her room.