It was easily one of the very worst days of my entire fucking life.

All week I’d been thinking and dreaming about my Saturday night date with Lynda Griffith. You don’t know her, of course, but you probably know somebody a lot like her. Most guys here at State would kill for the chance to spend an evening with Lynda, and she had said “yes” to me.

But on Friday I got shot down. In flames. And with no parachute.

Obviously Lynda had found somebody with more going on than she thought I had. I’m not rich, and I don’t drive a car whose model number includes the letter “Z”. There are worse-looking guys, but there are better-looking ones, too.

What hurt the most was, the bitch didn’t even have the hair to tell me she was cancelling our date at almost the last minute. She gave the message to my goddamn aunt instead.

Most people don’t believe Noelle is my aunt. She’s my dad’s youngest sister -- half-sister, actually; they don’t have the same mother -- and she’s twenty-four years younger than Dad. In fact, she’s six days younger than _I_ am. But her father is my Grand-dad, and that makes her my aunt, any way you cut it.

Both Aunt Noelle and I are students here at State. We see each other pretty often around campus, though we don’t have any classes together. She does have a couple of courses with Lynda, though, and that’s how she happened to get delegated to give me the bad news.

“I’m really sorry, Craig,” Noelle told me, after passing along the message. “Lynda is pretty, but she’s also kind of a bitch.” I just shrugged her off. I knew it wasn’t her fault, but remember how they used to treat the messenger that brought bad news?

I wasn’t being especially nice to Noelle. At the moment, the sting of Lynda’s kiss-off left me pretty insensitive to my aunt. We hadn’t seen much of each other when we were growing up -- just at holidays, because Dad’s folks lived so far away from us -- but we’d always been close when we were together, more like brother and sister than aunt and nephew. And now I just turned and walked away from her, lost in my own thoughts.

Friday was a really down day for me. I bought a six-pack on the way home, and I rented a couple of porn tapes at the video shop. Maybe watching Jeanna Fine and Amber Lynn in action would make me feel better. I couldn’t feel much worse, could I?

Anyway, they were both gorgeous bleach-blondes, just like my faithless Lynda, and if I wasn’t going to be with her, I could at least scope out a couple of lookalikes. It was definitely as close as I would get to some hot sex this weekend.

After fixing myself some mac ‘n’ cheese, I cracked the six-pack and settled down at the tv. The tapes were pretty good, and damn hot in the bargain. I mean, Hard-On City!

The sight of Jeanna Fine deep-throating ten inches of black dick made my balls ache with envy. I had homework to do, but it could fucking wait, as far as I was concerned. My cock began to throb inside my pants, and I stroked it as I watched the porn videos.

My place was a sleazy little dump, but cheap enough that I didn’t have to split it with a roommate. If I wanted to take my dick out while I watched fuck tapes, I could do it. And I did. I had my prick in my fist, stroking the swollen boner with a lazy rhythm.

The images on the small screen kept me hard, and I didn’t even hit the fast forward to get through the talk scenes. It wasn’t nearly as good as what some lucky son of a bitch -- who should have been me! -- was getting from Lynda Griffith tonight, but it wasn’t quite as bad as it could have been.

You should always watch a fuck film the whole way through, before you get yourself off, because the next scene might be a real doozie. This tape was hot as the bonfire under a Salem witch; it just got better and better.

I was pretty sure I’d save my squirt off for a replay of the scene where this hot, skinny redhead with sweet cupcake tits took on four guys at once -- two in the mouth and one each in her asshole and her cunt, with a four-way cum shot that showered her whole body -- but I still needed to check out the rest of it. Just in case.

And that’s when the fucking phone rang.

I turned down the volume on the tv but let the tape run. I was still playing with my Peter, just stroking it, when I picked up the phone. There was no voice, but I could hear soft breathing. “Hello?” I said. “Hello?”

I was about to slam the receiver down -- who needs shit like this, when you’re trying to get your nuts off, right? -- when a soft breathless voice spoke my name.

It was all I could do to hear her, but the sound of her voice was startlingly sexy in my ear. “Can you talk a little louder?” I asked. “Who is this, anyway? Lynda?” I had this wild fantasy that she’d changed her mind and was calling me to apologize, to beg for the pleasure of my company.