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The day after the party was move-out day at the dorms, and I was finishing up my packing while waiting for my parents to pick me up.
I didn’t get to see Claire or say goodbye to her properly that day. I heard from a mutual friend that she’d gotten into a fight with the guy she’d hooked up with the night before, apparently accusing him of “being a creep” and “taking her panties.” (If you’re reading this, sorry my guy.)
So instead, Claire and I said our goodbyes via text with a promise to video call each other regularly over the summer while she was in Europe and I headed home.
And home I went, working part time at a fast food joint to make some cash, while volunteering at the local hospital to pad my resume for my eventual med school application.
I initially thought being away from Claire, and being with old friends and family, would be the treatment to my one-way addiction to her that I couldn’t get over.
A pretty old school medical treatment – remove the source, and the patient will heal, right?
Unfortunately, the summer resulted in me digging my heels in even more.
I could tell Claire’s summer in Europe was going well.
As I mentioned before, her parents had landed her an internship with a European NGO, where she was working minimal hours while spending most of her time traveling the continent.
One weekend I’d see her posting a selfie in a sexy beret in Paris. The next she’d be doing the kitschy tourist pose with the Leaning Tower of Pisa. A few days later she’d be smiling on a bridge over an Amsterdam canal. And the entire time I would fill in the gaps by thinking about the endless stream of European cock she must have been taking in each city.
You guys already know about my obsession with her Instagram, and those photos ended up screenshotted and added to my collection on my laptop. I’d then spend nights jerking off endlessly thinking about what she might have been doing – and with whom – in each place.
The French dude who’d expertly eat her pussy while she moaned with her beret askew. The well-built Italian guy who’d make love to her like she’d never seen before after taking her photo in Pisa. The tall Dutch man who’s bend her over and pound her after meeting on the same canal bridge she was posing on.
I’d fill in the gaps myself, imagining the kind of fun Claire must have been having.
And that alone was enough to get me off.
Sometimes when I felt I needed an extra kick, I’d go back to the audio I recorded or dig into the back of my closet for the pair of panties I took from her at the party, sniffing them or wrapping them around my dick while I stroked to add to the sensation.
And when I’d cum and the reality sank in, I’d remember the pathetic contrast.
Claire was out in Europe enjoying life and getting dicked down constantly. Meanwhile I was alone in my parents’ basement jerking off to her IG.
My hometown friends did try to get me out of the house and have some fun. They knew this wasn’t like me – spending so much time at home and showing no interest in getting laid. So every Saturday we’d head out to the local dive bar, the one that was famous for never carding anyone and was basically the go-to spot for one-night stands.
You see, I usually never struggled to get a woman during first year. Claire and some of my friends even jokingly called me Mr. Worldwide due to my wide range of interests when it came to women.
The girl could be blonde, brunette or a redhead; white, black or asian; as long as they were attractive and fit my vibe, they probably spent some time in bed with me.
But this summer, ever since my obsession with Claire started, I spent the entire time either lusting over her or those who could resemble her: medium-height, thin blonde women, who I could project Claire onto.
It always went the same way. We’d head to the bar. I’d get a few drinks in for my confidence. And then I’d do my scan. If I saw a woman who could fit the profile, at least from behind, I’d work my game.
Unfortunately none of them were as attractive as Claire, not even close, but it was the backside that mattered.
Guys, I could go into detail on my summer hook-ups, but this sub is for the cuck aspect and I know my audience and to get to the point. So all I’ll say is that I usually had no difficulty convincing them to bang, at their place or in my car. I’d always take them from behind, convincing them i’m an ‘ass man’ and that they looked perfect in that position. Little did they know that I only wanted them that way so I could thrust away while thinking about Claire, wondering if she was getting the same treatment from whatever European guy she’d met that weekend.
One night, I made the rare exception on the ‘thin blonde’ rule. I was out at a party drinking when a heavier set brunette who I admittedly wouldn’t have given a second glance to started chatting me up. She said her name was Claire – or it could have been Clare, or Clair, or even something unusual like Klayr – it didn’t matter and you already know where this was going.
I bedded her that night. Not because I was into her, but because I could spend the whole night moaning Claire’s name while this girl lacked a single clue that there was another one I was thinking about the entire time.
The other loose end in all this was Kelly – Claire’s friend who I failed to hook up with at the party after shooting my load prematurely. The same Kelly who Claire would be rooming with in our sophomore year.
I never heard from Kelly after our failed hook-up. I was so embarrassed I didn’t even bother texting her to follow up.
But for a few weeks I was worried.
I thought Kelly would go to Claire and tell her everything. About how I ‘pathetically’ came within seconds of getting a blowjob, or that I seemed more interested in listening to Claire in the other room.
Worst of all, I wondered if Kelly might tell her that I had feelings for her.
But as far as I knew, Kelly never said anything. Or if she did, Claire was very good at keeping it to herself.
Throughout the summer, Claire and I’s texts and calls went as normally as they could have, as if we were just two good friends keeping each other updated on our adventures.
So that concludes the first arc of my friendship with Claire and how all this started – but there is much more to come and many more parts to be written.
While the story is marked as ‘fiction’ to allow me to make some adjustments for the sake of flow, I can tell you that so far it has not strayed far from my actual experiences with Claire.
We’ll skip ahead in the next parts as we get closer to the real ‘juicy’ stuff in present time, so I hope you’ll bear with me, and thank you for reading along. In many ways it’s been therapeutic to put this all down in writing.
In the meantime, if anyone has any questions, I am more than happy to answer them.
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