The Lie by Chad Kultgen Page B

actually saw her walking I noticed very clearly that significant discomfort, if not outright pain, was radiating from her asshole with every step.
    The girl lingered for a moment, and I realized that she might have been too hungover to remember where the front door was, so I indicated its general direction with a head nod and told her I had her number and would call her later in the day, both of which were lies.
    I was surprised at my stepmother’s general lack of outrage in the situation. My father had witnessed more than his fair share of sluts I had discarded leaving the house the next morning. His acceptance of this whore’s intrusion into our little family moment that morning was expected. I wouldn’t say my stepmother had been blind to the fact that I indulged in treating girls with disregard, even contempt, and viewed them only as a means to sate my carnal impulses. However, she hadn’t been face-to-face with one of the objects of my cock’s momentary attention very often. The other two times I can remember, my stepmother literally looked the other way and pretended not to see the girls. In this case, she was forced to deal with the evidence of my disdain for her own gender because it was interrupting our breakfast.
    Instead of being embarrassed or angry with the slut, both of which are reactions I would have expected, my stepmother was apparently angry at me for mistreating this whore. She stood up and insisted that I drive the slut back to campus immediately. Judging by my father’s silent smile through this entire event, he was deriving some comic pleasure from the whole thing. Rather than put up any opposition to my stepmother’s demand, which would only prolong the situation, I acquiesced, agreeing to take the girl home. At no time during this exchange was the girl’s name ever inquired about, which seemed strange to me later. My stepmother would have been even more difficult to deal with had she discovered that I not only didn’t remember the girl’s name, but had probably never even learned it the night before.
    I took a final sip of my orange juice and accompanied the girl out the front door to my car. When I got close enough to her, I could actually see some of my dried semen on her face. I wondered if my stepmother had detected it. I hoped she had.
    The drive back to campus was uneventful. The whore tried to sucker me into going to breakfast with her and, no doubt, paying for it. I used the excuse that my hangover was too severe to even entertain the idea of eating, which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had no choice but to accept my decision as I pulled onto campus.
    Getting out of my car, she asked me what I had planned for the rest of the day. I told her I had a date, which was untrue but blunt enough that I hoped it would dissuade her from further conversation or desire for any interaction with me. This was not the case. She asked me who the date was with, and for some reason I was unable to concoct a lie in that moment, maybe because of the hangover. Instead I just told her that I had no date, that the date was a lie, and the truth was I just didn’t want to see her again or have anything to do with her.
    She didn’t cry, at least not in my presence, but the look on her face, combined with an admittedly pleasant smell she had achieved through the application of some unique combination of perfumes, soaps, body sprays, et cetera, elicited in me a rare emotion. I actually felt like I had been unnecessarily harsh to this girl. I felt some kind of genuine sympathy for her and I apologized. This girl, whose name I would most likely never know, had through no intentional action reached something deep in me that I scarcely knew existed. I felt for a brief moment that I knew what Kyle must experience when he deals with girls. But the moment was, as I stated, brief. And a few seconds after my apology I again wanted nothing to do with this girl. She was the equivalent of a dirty sock I had blown a load in,