Morgan's College Adventure at Ravenswood

Months ago, you applied to a variety of different colleges hoping to your best ability to actually get accepted. In high school you were an alright student, middle of the pack, with no real redeeming qualities aside from getting your degree. You've been waiting for your acceptance letters in the mail and so far there has only been rejections, each letter feels like a hard blow to the stomach.

Today you have a feeling though, some gut intuition that this time will be different. You push past your grogginess putting up your black hair into a messy bun and enter the shower, the warm inviting water soothing your cold skin. When you get downstairs, you tell yourself, you will open that mailbox and see and acceptance letter waiting for you, waiting for you to open it. You reach for the soap, you see a variety of handmade bars before you and look at them.

The green mint one? Yeah, green is lucky, I think? You look at the bar and then pick it up, beginning to lather your skin. You wash your average sized breasts making sure to get underneath the folds. You then wash your legs and underarms, you finish by washing your ass, gotta stay fresh, ya know, you think to yourself. You pick up the pH balance bottle from the shower shelf and begin washing your vagina folds, you vaguely remember your friend awhile ago recommending it if you plan to have sex, if you get accepted to college, you do in fact want to finally lose your virginity, probably to the first guy who is vaguely nice to you.

You finish up and step outside the shower onto the floor mat letting the water spill off your body. You look at your pale reflection. You examine your blurry reflection through the fogged mirror. Pale skin, black unnaturally dyed hair, your 30C cup breasts are bright red from the hot water complimenting your dark brown nipples. "I think I'm attractive", you tell yourself. I have a lot of good qualities. I just don't know why I'm still a virgin, you examine yourself further, I mean Kala still has hers and she's 20. I'm only 19, I guess I still have time. Yeah, maybe I should join a dating site when I get to college or something, put myself out there. Most of the guys here at fucking assholes anyways, country boys aren't really my type. Or at least these country boys aren't. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I have a type. You begin to day dream about your ideal man when you hear something coming from downstairs.

"MORGAN, YOUR ACCEPTANCE LETTER FROM RAVENWOOD IS HERE" mom announces.