Quadruple Sext

He’s actually kind of goofy looking.

I thought to myself as my feet scuffed the gray utility carpet along the rows of books in the library. I shouldn’t have cared. After all, he was with Amanda, my arch enemy and not me. I didn’t even know his name. I wasn’t interested even if he was tall and built like a truck. His eyes were too round, like two lifeless marbles and they were too close together. On top of that, he always looked like he needed a shave. Not in that s*xy billionaire that makes-your-panties-wet kind of way, either. More like a drunk that just rolled out of bed and put on whatever clothes he found on the floor for another day.

That wouldn’t stop Amanda, though, not for one minute, even if he did have on the same gym clothes from the day before. She’d made a plan, a bet of some kind, back in our freshman days, that she could f*ck a guy in every part of the campus. Not just any guy would do for Miss Amanda. She was determined to be the head cheerleader for Piedmont University’s football team back then and now that she was, she would only f*ck the top athletes of all types, don’t you know? So far, she’d worked her way through quite a few buildings, and quite a few guys. But that wasn’t why I hated her.

Nope, I hated her because she was a grade-A b*tch and had been from day one. Back in our first days here, she’d taken a dislike to me because I stupidly asked her first-planned conquest which building my class was in. I missed orientation and the first day of class, due to a very nasty cold, and I still hadn’t learned which buildings my classes were in. They all looked the same to me and I couldn’t tell them apart.

I’m still not sure why she’d been so angry with me. I’d looked like complete and utter sh*t that day. I’d felt like it too, but she’d still been p*ss*d off about my intrusion. She’d stood there clinging to his arm like her life depended on it and glared at me. I didn’t care. I’d asked the guy with a school football jacket on if he knew where the building was, and for that, I’d paid the consequences ever since.

I soon found out we were both majoring in communications and that we had many of the same classes together. She’d grinned at me maliciously later that day when she’d walked into the class -- I’d managed to find my way to without help -- and saw me at the back row of seats.

A few weeks later, she came up to me with a big smile on her face. I expected her to torment me, but she asked, or rather demanded, “Help me with classes. Help me pass the year. Then, I’ll help you.” She cut her eyes at me, as she said the last sentence.

I was perplexed, help me with what?

“You want a man, don’t you? I think I can do,” She paused to wave her hands around as her face scrunched up with distaste, “something with you.”

She didn’t look convinced. I wasn’t either.

“Fine, be here tomorrow at four and we’ll get started.”

I nodded like a little girl in the principal’s office. It was crazy, I’d just started college and I had no friends as I did back home and she’d offered the chance to be my friend and for me to finally have a guy.

I couldn’t say no.

So, like a good choir girl, I helped her. Every day. After class. Even if at times when she wanted me to do her assignments. I still helped her along. Until she failed her first quiz. Sure, that was my fault. Never mind the fact that she clearly didn’t study. I should have been relieved, I was doing her assignments as well as my own and working in the library and it was starting to wear me down. Not only because it was taking so much time, but because I was helping her and there was no way that she was doing anything for me.

The crazy part was that I felt some part of belonging just by hanging out with her. Even if we weren’t officially hanging out. I didn’t feel like a stranger on campus anymore. The invisible girl. Amanda wasn’t happy yet again and for some reason, her playtime had officially begun.

Over the last four years, she’d made fun of me, started rumors about me, and had made me the feature of her blog. She’d changed my name slightly, and when she used pictures of me, she blurred my face, thankfully, but everybody on campus knew that Nikki Can’t Get F*ck*d was a blog all about me.

My virginity felt like it was there for everyone to laugh at me.

Part of that was thanks to Amanda. Scratch that. My complete lack of a s*x life was thanks to her. She’d made me a pariah and had cashed in on it too. Her blog was monetized, and all the top sites loved paying her to put their ads up. It made me want to scream.

I was here on a scholarship, a scholarship that I worked my *ss off to keep. I worked in the school library to help pay for my room and board, and the rest of my time was spent studying. Which was another reason I had no s*x life. I didn’t have time to write blogs or harass other students. I was too busy earning money for school.

Amanda’s dad had a lot of money. Lots of money. The ‘my daddy owns four power plants and the state football team’ kind of money. My dad doesn’t have two nickels to rub together.

The fact that I struggled while Amanda just had to open up a webpage to make a buck, didn’t seem right at all. I struggled between wanting to scream and wanting to cry.

Instead, I pushed the trolley to a row of books that was Amanda-free and put a book back on the shelf there. Even though I was now four rows away from her, I could still hear what they were doing. Luckily, it was a slow day and there wasn’t anyone else in the library. I’d have reported her, but the head librarian just rolled her eyes at the antics of the students.

“I’ve been here for twenty-six years, Nicolette, and every year there’s at least one couple that tries it. We ignore it if it isn’t too obvious, and the library is virtually empty. Otherwise, we’ll handle the situation, but if it’s done discreetly. My best advice is to just ignore it, dear.”

Mrs. Lawson told me this the first time I’d come across it. I’d only been working in the library for a week when I spotted a couple in a dark corner, hands all over each other as the boy lifted the girl up against the wall to… Well, I don’t know because I’d looked away. Then I’d gone to Mrs. Lawson, to find out what we were supposed to do about things like that.

Her explanation had been simple.

I’d frowned at what she told me, but she was probably right. Why ruin a student’s career over something so silly? Except for when it was Amanda. I wanted revenge, not just for the torture over the last few years, but for the b*llsh*t way she’d stepped up that torture this year. As if the rumors and the snide comments weren’t enough for her, or that stupid blog that I couldn’t get taken down, even though I’d reported it to the school and the web host, she’d tried to f*ck me over again, this time with a more personal touch.

I stood quietly in the musty-smelling library as my thoughts went back to all those months ago when this latest battle started.

But when she failed again and came to me with her wide gray eyes and tears streaming down her face. “I need help with my final project in Public Relations Campaigns. You’ve done better than any of our classmates in the communications classes, and well, I don’t want to fail. I’m not going to pass if you don’t help me. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll even shut down the blog if you’ll only help me.”

I’d wanted to refuse out of hand, but then an idea had occurred to me. She could help me, and I’d help her. Sort of. “Fine, you help me lose my virginity, and I’ll tutor you. But you have to be nice to me and help me. Do you really understand what that means?”

F*ck, it was crazy to give her another chance, but she looked desperate and by the second year, my loneliness was starting to get to me. The idea that I’d spent nearly two years here and still hadn’t made any real friends was something I just couldn’t take anymore.

She’d looked me over, and I knew what she saw. A girl of average height, with light brown hair and blue eyes. I wore clothes from a second-hand store, dried my straight hair naturally, and didn’t wear makeup. Well, not as much as Amanda wore. Some mascara, a little eye shadow, and eyeliner were about the extent of my makeup habits.

My body wasn’t bad, I guess. I think I was little too long in the torso, but I wore a C-cup bra, and all the time I spent walking kept me slim. Maybe a little too slim, some would say. I came equipped with long legs that I hid in baggy jeans, and feet that my family said should be too small to hold me up. I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but I wouldn’t be out in the first round. With some help, that is, but it was a mistake.

Amanda did pass, but she didn’t help with my v-card issue. No, she taped our conversation and let everyone know that there wasn’t a possibility that I was a virgin. It was a sure thing, coming from the horse’s mouth! As she politely wrote it on the blog.

A book shut suddenly with a sound like a shot in front of my face. “Daydreaming about f*ck*ng Seamus are you, Nikki? I mean, Nicolette.”

Amanda stood right in front of me with the cliché bad-girl curl to her lip. Her face was a mask of derision as she looked me over. She always did that, every time she saw me. The thing was, that look didn’t exactly make me feel small anymore.

“Not at all, Amanda. I was just wondering what STD you possibly picked up this time. I’ve heard you’ve had a few now.” I pushed the cart out of the way as she feigned a horrified ignorance that there was any kind of STD she might have caught. I wasn’t the timid girl that started the first year at uni. No more could she talk to me as if I was beneath her.

She’d done away with the feigned affront a long time ago because she knew she didn’t really have a leg to stand on in that department. She did, however, want to keep that case of chlamydia she’d caught a secret. Too bad everyone on campus knew it about it by the time she’d left the health clinic.

“Well,” Amanda said as she snatched up Seamus’s hand, “at least I can get f*ck*d. I tell you what, next time you can watch, Nicolette. It’s the closest you’ll ever get to a d*ck.”

I rolled my eyes as she walked off in a huff. She pulled the rather dazed-looking Seamus with her. He didn’t even seem to register that I’d just insulted him as much as her. I shook my head with disbelief but knew that the boy was there to bring in money from the sports fans, not to get an education.

She’d made her way out the door, her middle finger lifted in the air as the door swung open. She was such a b*tch.

I wished there was some way to make her feel, for just a moment, the way she made me feel. I doubted a girl like her would ever know that kind of embarrassment, shame, or any of the other emotions she’d subjected me to. I had no idea how to stop her. She was popular, her father was important, and she was beautiful.

I was plain, poor, and had no kind of influence at all. On anyone.

Well, maybe on my best friend, I thought, as I finished up at work and headed back to the dorm. She listened to me, she’d tried to help me with Amanda and that awful blog Amanda wrote, but Brooklyn wasn’t any more powerful than I was.

For now, all I could do was not rise to the bait and hope that I could get through the last few weeks of my last term. That’s all I had to do. Well, that and lose my virginity.

That had been an ongoing quest from the day I stepped onto campus. I’ve never had a boyfriend, or a hookup, of any kind. I’d always been too busy. Now, I wanted to make sure I got rid of that little sign of so-called purity. I didn’t want to be pure anymore. I wanted to be grown, experienced, and knowledgeable. Those were my two goals, and someone like Amanda wasn’t really important in the long run. That’s what I told myself every day now if only my head and heart would listen.

“I never understood why you wanted her to make you over and find you a man anyway,” my best friend forever, Brooklyn, said as I told her about what had happened at the library. Brooklyn was exasperated with me. “She’s a mean little bitch that is living the best years of her life right now. In a couple of years, she’ll marry some asshole, knock out a few babies, and have a drinking problem as hubby comes home later and later.”

She was sitting on the steps of our building with me, dressed in dark blue jeans, a white turtleneck sweater that skimmed halfway down her thighs, and black boots. Her sable hair was in neat braids down her back, and she barely wore makeup, other than a maroon shade of lipstick that made her entire face become, somehow, more beautiful. I looked at her and wished I could be that beautiful without makeup on. I just looked like that nasty bit of water left in the sink after you wash dishes when I tried to go out without the bare minimum.

“I wanted a ch