The Summer of Chelsea Pt. 01

*All characters in this story are at least 21 years old at the time it takes place*

*

My name is Jordan Bishop, and I'm a scumbag. I am not proud to admit this, but I cannot deny it either. The ironic thing about me being a scumbag is that I really have no reason to be. I had a comfortable upper-middle class childhood, and my parents have always supported me in everything that I do. I wasn't abused or neglected. I had a healthy social life and I played sports. I have no deeply-rooted issues with women that I'm aware of, and in fact, I'm deeply in love with my long-time girlfriend, Desiree Randall. She is my best friend and my soulmate. She means the world to me, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with her...but I also still can't stop fucking other women. I know that I have a problem.

My lust for women is my master. It is ever present and never-ending. Even after Desiree and I started having sex in college two, sometimes three times a day, I still found my eyes wandering over the legs and breasts and behinds of other women, or when we were out together. My compulsion to be with them consumed my thoughts, day and night. Desiree was fantastic, but I slowly grew to realize, and with a mounting sense of dread, that she was just not enough for me. Moments after being with her, my mind would immediately wander back to some random girl I'd passed at the mall, or a cashier in a convenience store. I'd find myself becoming obsessed with women I'd only glanced at, and never talked to before in my life.

I could feel the hunger inside of me growing exponentially, and becoming more impatient. Wilder. Darker. My fantasies grew so depraved and fiendish that it would cause me to physically throw up. My dick had a mind of its own, and it seemed to be engorged with blood more often than it was not. Masturbating and watching porn did nothing for me. Those were like eating a sleeve of peanuts when I'd been starving for a month. I needed a real, warm, soft, moaning, writhing woman underneath me...but I couldn't have them. I wasn't going to break up with Desiree, she was my future. But being with her meant that I had to cut myself off from other women, and ignore the raving animal inside me as it clawed, kicked, gnashed at its cage to get free.

It was pure hell.

I began to flirt when I was out alone, torturing myself even further. I was terribly awkward at first, since Desiree was the only girl I'd ever dated, but I kept at it, and it gradually became easier. With trial and error—and a bit of internet research—I mastered the art of "game", and consistently performed on the meticulous sequence of steps that is the dance of flirting. With each number I got, my confidence swelled. Eventually, I was doing it without thinking. Give me twenty minutes with any woman and I could have her blushing like a little girl, giggling at my bad jokes, and twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Being as attractive as I am just made the process all that much smoother.

Despite my impressive collection of numbers, I never followed through on meeting up with anyone. By that point, I still retained some vestiges of my identity as an honest, moral man. I fought my urges nail and tooth. On the outside, I was a GOOD GUY. Truly.

Then I met Bruce Hall.

Freshman year, my very first day at Amatis University. I was 18. By chance, Bruce and I were the first two to our trigonometry class, and both studious enough to sit in the front. He was an applied mathematics major, I was robotics engineering, and we both agreed that this class would be a cakewalk. We also seemed to agree on just about everything else, so we ended up exchanging numbers. The next week, he invited me to a house party, on someone's parents' ranch. There were an unnecessary number of smoking hot college girls in short shorts at this party. It was absolutely over-stimulating. At some point, I took to just looking at the floor to avoid completely embarrassing myself. All of the other guys there seemed cool about it, but I was having an internal meltdown. I think that's when I realized that my appetite was not normal, or even close.

I still remember every detail of the night, four years later....

__________________________________________________________________

Bruce and I were talking at the island in the kitchen when he said those first, fateful words: "Good god, they're hot."

I'd been examining the foam circling the beer I'd hardly sipped. I looked up.

"By the doors." he said.

I looked to the doors, and instantly spotted who he was talking about. Two tall brunettes in matching sundresses; one red, one floral print. My imagination took off, and I couldn't stop staring. I may have stopped blinking altogether.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Bruce getting up. "I've got red, you've got flowers?"

"Huh?"

"We're going to go introduce ourselves." he replied, as if it was the obvious thing to do.

I was shocked. Bruce had a girlfriend, Lisa, he'd been dating for a year. He lit up whenever I mentioned her, and he was already saving for a ring to propose when they both graduated.

In my mind, I contemplated mentioning Lisa. My body, however, was standing up along with him, placing my beer on the counter, and walking over the where the girls stood. Bruce started chatting with the girl in red, and I talked to the girl in floral print. I willed my eyes to stay connected with hers. Her name was Cassie. She seemed timid but friendly, and I was charming. I was concentrating so hard on saying all of the right things, that I didn't notice that Bruce and the other girl had disappeared.

Cassie laughed at my reaction to their exit, and leaned up to whisper in my ear, "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"Yes." I couldn't get the syllable out fast enough. Cassie giggled again.

She took my hand, and we made our way through the crowd. As we climbed the stairs, my eyes were glued to where the bottom of her dress was fluttering at the top of her thighs. The house was enormous and she quickly found an empty bedroom. We stepped into total darkness and she locked the door behind us. A second later, she was pushing me up against a wall, and the moment her lips touched mine was the moment that my inner savage broke free from its prison in a murderous rage. It's the very first time I fell over what I call The Edge. We made out for a while, but managed to stop devouring each other long enough for her to say the words: "Do you have a condom?". I had three.

I still feel bad for what Cassie had to endure for the next two hours.

I unleashed onto her at least five years worth of pent up, barbaric lust and frustration. I took her in the name of every woman that I'd ever wanted to take, in every position imaginable. The entire time, I moaned to her one never-ending soliloquy about how perfect she was, and how badly I needed her. I worshipped her.

She must have thought I was insane. Because I WAS.

We both burned out at the same time. For a while we just laid there on the rug, panting and staring up into the darkness. It had all happened on the floor. Cassie was the one to break the silence with one word: "Whoa." I reply with "Yeah." I couldn't tell if her exclamation was a good 'whoa' or a bad 'whoa', and I was stunned when she gave me her number a few minutes later.

I found my way back downstairs in a daze, and went outside. Bruce was sitting on the wrap-around porch, waiting for me. He asked me if I had a good time, and I looked at him like I didn't recognize him, before turning to head to his car.

Bruce didn't speak until we pulled out onto the road. "You okay, dude?"

I nodded.

"Jeez, Bishop. She really put it on you, didn't she?"

"Desiree." It was the only word I could think of at that moment.

"Oh, right." Bruce replied awkwardly. "I mean...you've never fucked around before?" Fucked around. He'd said it so casually.

"No. I haven't."

"It's not a big deal, man." He at least had the decency to sound sympathetic, "Just use protection, and don't get caught. Oh, and don't hook up with any girls that go to school with us. Or girls that are too drunk, that's just...asking for trouble." He scrunched his face. The guidelines he was laying out for me the beginnings of the development of the Code.

He dropped me off at my dorm, and I took a shower before climbing into bed. Usually, I'd be semi-erect right then, straining against the sheets as I fantasized about some woman I'd driven by on the bus stop earlier in the day. Instead, my penis lay flaccid against my thigh, and the beast within me was curled up and sleeping soundly in the remnants of its obliterated cage. I stared at the ceiling for as long as I could keep my eyes open, analyzing my feelings. There was a heavy guilt about Desiree, but it was almost totally eclipsed by an overwhelming sense of relief and peace. I knew that the state of serenity would be temporary, but I reveled in it for as long as I could.

That night, I slept better than I ever had in my entire life.

___________________________________________________________________

Cassie and I screwed three more times over the next two months, until she got a boyfriend. Days later, I found Scarlett using a dating profile with a fake name and a picture that only showed my chest and bulge. Scarlett and I fucked twice before she changed her number and ghosted me. After Scarlett there was Justina, then Michelle, then Kylie, then another Michelle. After the first six, I can't remember their names in order. I feel nothing more than a blazing sexual attraction for the women I've been with outside of Desiree. They all fade to a distant part of my memory the day that either of us decides to end the situation. Like flipping a switch, I alternate between Jordan Bishop and my lawless alter-ego, Chris Newman. For four years my debauchery goes un-suspected and un-detected...

Until I meet Chelsea Kaiser.