Kayla DIRT #6

Your phone rings, startling you. You almost drop it, but you accept the call. Getting your eyes off the image of Kayla barely helps.

“What?” you say dazedly.

“See my pic?” Lisa asks coyly.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I take that as a yes.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“You saw what it was. Your sister’s popular,” Lisa taunts. “More popular than you. And you’re the celebrity.”

“Oh my god.” You rub your face with your hand. “What is she doing?”

“Pretty obvious what she’s doing?”

“How many people were there? When was this?” you ask. It’s like a bad dream.

“Yesterday. Just three. I mean, four if you include her. I took more pics if you want to see. Adella finished inside, Roonie did too, and then Lara did it on her butt,” Lisa says as though she’s telling you what boots she saw on sale today.

You twitch. “Lara was there?”

“Course. She’s in the pic.”

Well, her ass is. Great. There was enough rivalry and weirdness between you and Lara before you found out she’d fucked your sister.

“Guess I was a little off,” Lisa says, pretending to sound apologetic. “I thought she wanted to save for a car, but she really wanted to be FUTA’s cocksleeve. I guess I can relate. How do I get her job? Guess I need boobs. Big cow udders.” Lisa giggles and snorts. You aren’t listening.

“Oh my god. Kayla,” you say, but where is that judgment coming from? You have a weird on and off no-strings affair with a chick who stalks people, and when you aren’t giving her shameful hate sex, you’re jerking off to pictures that she takes without people knowing. Kayla just partying with hot athletes at FUTA seems mild and wholesome in comparison.

Still. Your mom would flip out over this.

You abruptly notice Sun looking at you. That’s not weird; you are over here having a seriously heated conversation. You’re being a bad roommate, but this is a special situation. That’s not what has her attention.

You look down at your erection, which has emerged proudly from between the folds of your towel. Blushing, you try to hide it.

“Sorry,” you say to Sun, who gives you a smile that says no apology is needed. Furiously, you open your mouth to say something, but what? You hold the phone up to your head like an idiot.

“What is she doing?” you ask finally, repeating yourself.

“Isn’t it obvious? FUTA puts your bulges all over every piece of marketing that goes out the door,” Lisa says with another laugh. “She must have a thing for girls with something extra. Like a fetish. I wonder where she got that?”