“Hey, hippie chick,” he drunkenly slurred to me. I was used to it.

As soon as I graduated from high school, I escaped the wretched treatment of my peers by enrolling in college and moving away from the suffocating small town with even smaller-minded inhabitants. I was no longer the “Jezebel Whore,” “Witch Slut,” or “Satan’s Whore.” My new nickname was based upon my wardrobe; having grown up “dirt poor,” which is southern for impoverished, most of my clothing was hand-made. Patchwork skirts, ruffled blouses, and lacy shawls were my standard fare. The new moniker, Hippie Chick, was a definitive upgrade.

The college boy continued. “Hey, hippie chick, nice skirt. Too bad it doesn’t match your top.”

I was in a typical, rowdy campus bar. Unlike most of the other students, I grew up around recreational intoxicants, so I didn’t exactly dive into the “let’s party ‘til we puke” mentality. However, my mode of dress, half Stevie Nicks, half witch, coupled with my pale skin and red hair that changed colors on a random whim, made me the target of every horny male in the entire college. At least it was better than the usual, them telling me how hot I was, or how they always wanted to date a redhead. By “date” they meant to get drunk and fuck.

I turned to face the new would-be seducer, my sixth one since I sat down to enjoy my rum and cola. At least he was cute. He wasn’t really my type, but he had a certain boyish charm, looking nervous despite his liquid courage. His shaggy, unkempt hair was too brown, and his lack of muscles wasn’t my preference, but I was horny. That didn’t, however, stop me from throwing his bullshit line right back into his face.

“So,” I began with more than a little sarcasm, “you must be one of those pickup artists I’ve been hearing so much about. That’s called a neg, right?”

“I, ah, I was just…”

“I know, it’s all the rage on campuses right now. All these memorized lines and approaches. That’s what you would-be Lotharios call an ‘Opener,’ right? Use a neg, a back-handed compliment crafted—by childish morons that know less than nothing about women, I might add—to raise my expectations of receiving a compliment. Then, put me on the defensive so I ‘qualify’ myself to you. Do you really think that shit will get you laid?”

I managed that all in one breath. I sipped my drink, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he studied his feet. “I’ll leave you be.” He turned to go.

“How about you try, again?” I was horny and he’d do. “Rather than some contrived bullshit, why don’t you try introducing yourself?”

He stopped, stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Hi, hippie chick, I’m Chad. Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t know,” I retorted, smiling this time. “Can you?” He looked confused. “It’s fine, Chad. Sit down and order me a drink.”

“Beer?”

“Fuck, no. Beer is like making love in a canoe.”

“What?”

“It’s fucking close to water.” The reference was lost on him. “Rum and cola, please.”

“That stuff’s pretty hard.”

“I love it hard, nice and hard.” I put my hand on his thigh for emphasis. The “Chadster” must not have had much experience with women; I thought he was going to pee himself.

The bartender plopped down my new drink as I downed the remnants of mine. “There you go, hippie chickie,” he smiled.

“So, Chad,” his eyes were a nice shade of blue. “Are you one of those silly pickup artists?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he confessed.

“So, what’s your game plan?”

“Umm,” he paused. “I need to open you, show you that I’m alpha and lead the way, isolate you, then get you alone, and then get you into bed.”

“So, like you’re going to use the push-pull, fractionation?”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Because every single one of you idiots that took last week’s pick-up girls seminar has been hovering around all the bars, doing the same things.”

“Oh. Is it that obvious?”

“Why isolate me? What if I was incredibly horny and just wanted to suck your cock right here, in front of everyone?”

I moved my hand from his khaki-clad thigh and grabbed his meat through his pants. Poor Chad sputtered in his beer.

“What’s wrong, Chad? Don’t you want my hand on your cock? How about my mouth?”

“Are you fucking serious, Hippie?”

“Shut up and suck my tits.” I grabbed his head and pulled it to my breast, lifting my shirt, to the applause and delight of the drunkards, to ensure his lips landed on my hard nipple.

“Suck it, Chad. Now, reach under my skirt and finger my pussy. Fuck my cunt with your hands.”

A rowdy crowd gathered around us.

Chad was so stunned that his entire body shook. His lack of body control forced me to grab his hand and shove it between my legs. I kept stroking his cock through his pants as his breathing grew ragged and heavy.

“Now, take me away to isolation, so we can fuck. Lead me, you big, bad Alpha.”

“You’re serious?”

“If you don’t want to fuck me, I think I can probably find somebody else in here that does.” I turned to the onlookers. “Anyone here want to stick their cock in my hot, wet, dripping cunt if he doesn’t?”

Chad grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out the door.

My roommate, Bethany, was in our dorm room, studying, so we couldn’t go there. Rather than trudge across campus to the men’s dorms, I pulled him into the alley. A large stack of baled cardboard boxes offered enough privacy.

Bending over, I hiked up my patchwork skirt and bent over, exposing my ass. “I’m isolated and powerless against your charms, Chad. Fuck me, now.”

In record time, he’d wrapped his cock in latex and plunged into my sopping hole. He grunted and pumped, furiously, the sound of his groin smacking against my buttocks echoing off the alley walls.

“Reach around and finger my clit. Make me fucking cum.”

His inexperienced fingers fumbled a bit, but, with my tutoring, found my pleasure button. His thrusting grew faster, more urgent.

“That feels fucking good, I’m going to…” was all I managed.

Chad erupted in an explosive orgasm, his hips bucking, his mouth moaning. I didn’t.

“So,” Chad asked me with newfound confidence. “Why don’t you give me your number?”

“Let me tell you something about hippie chicks. Just because we want it now doesn’t mean that we will tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you around.” With that, I left him standing there and walked back into the bar.

I hadn’t been in there for more than three minutes until I was approached again, this time by a pretty little coed wearing a t-shirt and cutoffs.

“Did you just fuck him?” Her face was aglow with rosy-cheeked humor.

“If you want to call it that. I was proving a point.”

“Not a good lay? Maybe you need a woman. I’m Theresa.”

“Want to see what’s in the alley, Theresa?” She merely nodded, and it was my turn to pull somebody out and lead them into the dark alley.

Wordlessly, our lips met in a soft, passionate embrace, our hands exploring each other's flesh, our fingers kneading the other’s body. Her hands sought the wetness between my recently-fucked legs and I tore at her shirt, exposing her tiny, pert breasts, with nipples ripe for sucking. Undoing her shorts and maneuvering my hand under her panties, I found her swollen clit and thronged it with my fingertips until she was a quivering, orgasmic mass in my arms.

Throughout, our lips stayed locked together, tongues probing, moans echoing in the backs of the other’s mouths. Finally stepping out of her shorts, I knelt between her legs and she humped my wanton face, smearing her liquid love over my lips and chin.

“You’ve, aah, fucked a woman…mmmm…before,” she gasped. “So good, I’m going to cum, again.”

When her legs could no longer hold her upright, she lay on a cardboard bed, her tongue probing my wetness as I straddled her. Theresa knew how to get me off, and, while she took her time with my first orgasm, she was relentless, forcing my juices to spew from my hot cunt time and time again. I ended up on all fours, screaming my head off, while she licked my clit, fingering both of my holes.

I took her number, promising to call her the next day. Then I went home, scolding myself for being such a slut the entire way. Deep slumber followed.

I was awakened by my roommate, Bethany, chatting with somebody, and opened my eyes.

“I see the sleepyhead is awake,” she drawled out in her southern belle accent. “Meet my boyfriend, Chad.”

I had to laugh. “We met last night. How’s big alpha male, Chadster, doing?”

“You two are roommates?”

Chad was about to be in big trouble.