There’s nothing romantic about it. Nothing at all. There’s just my apartment growing dimmer. I’m sure it isn’t my imagination. I’m sure it w...s brighter before. There is no end of books and films about the poor, romantic, bereft loser. Chick lit. Chick flicks. Why do women like them so much? Whatever was inside you, whatever made you alive, drains away. All the meaning of the world circles down. Maybe women want to imagine the happy ending, so much happier when set against misery. Maybe they. That was exactly why she had been chosen to ask those questions.My partner, Melanie, the blonde clearly in the question, and I looked at the two dozen contacts we’d gathered. We were graduate students studying sexual deviation, partly because of professional interest and partly because of very personal interest. We’d been fucking our way through graduate school together, as much professional partners as personal. Having each other available for all the banging we needed took a lot of. I crawled to the guestroom and pulled myself to the bed. I continued to sob. After some time, I heard the door opening, soft footsteps to the bedside."David? Are you okay, Honey? What's wrong, why are you sobbing so?" I could not respond. I was too weak to even turn over.I heard a male voice. "How is he? I hope we didn't hurt him. I never would have done this if I had known he would respond like that!" They lay down each side of me. Suzy cradled my head to her breasts, soothingly stroked my. She walked up to me and fondled them awkwardly. "I've always preferred yours." I stood still as her warm hands explored me, saying nothing, enjoying her touch. "You're awfully quiet," she said, smiling."It's nice, just enjoying it." She tweaked one nipple, enjoying watching it harden up. I sighed gently. "To the dare, then..." she said.She was tiptoeing down the hallway before I regained my senses. I followed her out the door, my breasts conspicuous in the hallway light. We snuck through my.