Then, with an expert sweep of her arm, she pushed the mound into her nightstand drawer where dwelt her burgeoning dildo collection and clicked off the light. It stunned me how she could take her situation so lightly. Coming from my relatively sheltered background cue Catholic upbringing, close-knit family and a non-existent social life , I was amongst the few girls over 15 who still believed kissing was a big deal. I felt like I wasn't welcome in my own room. To say life was miserable would be an understatement. Needless to say, my mind was racing.
She was fast asleep. At one low point, I walked in to find him sitting bare-bottomed on my desk chair. That very next day, Beth came home even later than she had the night before. But that discrepancy wasn't enough to compel my bad judgment. The substance in question? Needless to say, my mind was racing. My draw dropped to the floor. It stunned me how she could take her situation so lightly. Though Beth and I were paired together courtesy of our school's blind housing system, a bit of Facebook research revealed us to actually have a few things in common—namely, that we were both Texas natives, musicians and aspiring scientists—so I had high hopes that the match would be a good one. As she was my first ever roommate, I wanted to do my best to ensure that we had a smooth and perhaps even amicable relationship. But there were barely any left when I got there I figured Beth and I had our differences, but I would still try to do her the courtesy of compromising to accommodate both of our room needs. Beth took complete advantage of my compliancy and began ousting me multiple nights per week—always between the hours of 11 p. Almost every time I returned to my room, I would either be walking in on them in the act, having to step over condom wrappers to get to my desk, or I would be shooed away at the door by a naked Rafi waving a slimy dildo in his outstretched hand. And I was still staring in shock when, a few minutes later, she spilled the contents of her large backpack bag onto her bed to reveal upwards of about 80 condoms. Then, she dropped the bomb: Beth's sex addiction drove my life into the ground, and no amount of mediation or housing-transfer requests was able to stop it. Because he wasn't a student and only had a part-time job at the halal food cart on the corner, he was always around. A couple days later, she came to me with a request. And for the first few weeks of classes, we succeeded. To say life was miserable would be an understatement. I felt like I wasn't welcome in my own room. I balked, taking in the condom pedestal that was once her bed. Though I'm usually not one to judge a book by its cover, the first time I met Beth, her sturdy frame, bushy hair and nondescript garb didn't exactly do much to scream "seductress. Do you have a story to share? So, in closing, even though Beth's sex addiction made my room feel like a part-time brothel, it was ultimately thanks to her that I discovered a deep passion and appreciation for single rooms.
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