American Girl

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Rafia Saad rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer. Looking down the quiet residential street, she felt nervous, awkward. She smoothed the light cotton fabric of her new party dress. It was a festive lime print, and its hem fell just above her knees. Despite its modest cut, Rafia's father—a wiry man, with a shiny brown head—had clucked his tongue disapprovingly. Rafia didn't care. This party, she knew, was her big debut with the other students from Roosevelt.

She wanted to look her best.


Rafia rang the bell again.

She could hear faint music coming from inside the house. Looking at her reflection in the glass of the door, she flicked a tangle of long dark hair from her shoulder and licked her dry lips. Under her dress, Rafia wore a sheer black panty, the single piece of racy clothing she owned. It was her one prized possession, a secret indulgence she hid from her father. She imagined later tonight lifting the hem of her dress ever so slightly so that her date might get a glimpse of what she wore underneath.

Veronica suddenly burst out of the door and the sound of loud house music spilled out onto the porch. "Rafia!" Veronica said, her arms outstretched, a large plastic cup in one hand.

She kissed Rafia delicately on the neck. Leaning back and giving her an appraising look, Veronica pursed her lips and then smiled. "You look fabulous," she said. "The color of that dress looks amazing with your skin." She held the storm door open with her foot, motioned with her head for Rafia to follow. "Come in, come in," Veronica said.

Rafia grinned and made her way into the house. Veronica had an intensity about her that both intimidated and intrigued Rafia. Part of what intimidated her about Veronica was her incredible beauty: green eyes, creamy skin, high cheekbones. Her dark hair was straight and shiny, unlike Rafia's own hair, which was wild and tangled and always needed some sort of attention. And part of it was Veronica's abundance of confidence. Her father was wealthy so this probably accounted for much of her self-assurance. She was also Roosevelt's homecoming queen this year and—as Veronica herself liked to point out—had been on the varsity cheerleading squad since she was a freshman. Not only did she always get what she wanted, she always seemed to get the best of everything. Veronica was, Rafia thought, a classic American girl—sexy, popular, and assertive.

"Rafia's here!" Veronica announced to the party.

As she marched Rafia into the kitchen, girls smiled and nodded. The boys were off clustered in small groups of their own. Rafia knew most of their faces, if not all of their names.

"Do you want a drink?" Veronica asked.

Not waiting for an answer, Veronica took an oversize red plastic cup and filled it with punch. "Always make your own drinks," Veronica said in a low, conspiratorial voice.

Rafia nodded, reaching for the cup. She sipped the drink, a fruity concoction spiked with hard liquor. Realizing at once the punch was much too powerful for her, Rafia hid her displeasure. Better to nurse the drink, than risk offending her host.

"I'm going to find Logan," Veronica said. "You'll like him. He's nice—and so excited to meet you!"

Veronica had promised to introduce Rafia to Logan Reese. He was a football player. An attractive boy, he had a barrel chest and a large head, which rested on his thick shoulders like an upturned pail. Rafia had already decided that—if she had the opportunity—she would sleep with him later tonight. That is, if he'd have her. If he'd want to have sex with her, a freshman girl new to Roosevelt. She imagined he would, and her body tingled with willful anticipation. To Rafia, it seemed as if all the American boys were eager to sleep with most any girl. Likewise, all the girls seemed pretty obliging themselves.

Veronica appeared in the crowded kitchen, this time towing Logan behind her along with her own boyfriend, Chet.

"We meet again," Chet said. Taking Rafia's hand in both his own, he grinned.

Chet was the first-string quarterback for Roosevelt's championship football team, the Yellow Devils, and he seemed the perfect match for Veronica: strong-jawed, well-muscled, with an outgoing, exuberant personality. He made small talk about the school's chances on the gridiron this season, refreshed his drink, then stood there sipping. Logan, on the other hand, didn't seem to have much to say at all. Rafia chatted with the three of them and gingerly sipped her own drink until finally, Logan, at Veronica's urging, took Rafia into the living room to dance.

Logan gestured for Rafia to lead the way, then followed close behind. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, guiding her to the middle of a room where other couples were dancing. A curious boy, Logan always seemed to duck his head shyly before meeting Rafia's eyes with his own.

Rafia and Logan danced with half a dozen other boys and girls. Logan seemed to have even less to say in the living room. Rafia wondered if he found her attractive. She wondered if they'd find their way into one another's arms later tonight. But he seemed attentive enough and the volume of the music prevented talk, so Rafia resolved to be grateful for whatever came her way tonight. She held onto her drink and nodded to the couples Logan introduced her to.

Logan wore his blonde hair in a clipped crew cut. There was color in his cheeks, perhaps from the heat of all the bodies in the room, and his forehead grew moist with the exertion of dancing. Rafia longed to run her fingers over the short stubble on his head.

When Logan finally leaned toward her and suggested they go upstairs, she smiled and took his hand, eagerly nodding her assent.

Rafia was no shrinking virgin herself. She loved to be petted, especially between her legs. When the time came, she loved to straddle a boy's thigh, grinding her hips and crotch against him until she came. She knew well how

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Written by Huck Pilgrim
Hochgeladen November 2, 2020
Notes Gangbanged by her classmates. Dominated by the homeowner.
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