The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Beverly impatiently drummed her fingers along the table. How the Hell could this be the place? She pulled out her iPhone and checked the address for a third time, but the email had not magically changed to meeting at a nicer location.

There had to be some mistake, Beverly thought. The reason you joined a $500/month online dating site is to make sure only a certain class of person could afford to sign up. Certainly not the type who would want to meet in some grimy sports bar where laminated flyers on the table advertise discounted pitchers of Miller Lite and myriad TVs blared whatever idiocy the various ESPNs decided was important to the masses.

The waitress stopped by. “Get ya something, Hon?”

Beverly looked her over, noting the tight white blouse, partially unbuttoned to reveal some cleavage and the mid-thigh length black skirt, dressed as though she was more stripper than waitress. Beverly felt bad for the poor girl, forced to work a degrading job in a patriarchal society and forced to provide hints of sex just to get enough tips from perverts to pay her rent.

“Do you have any wine?” Beverly asked.

“Uh, don’t think so.”

“Just water for now, then,” Beverly grumped.

As Beverly sipped her water, she took out her iPhone and checked the time. The guy was already 10 minutes late. It was taking Beverly all of her willpower just to keep waiting, what with the raucous din from all the TVs. She was not the one who waited; she was the one who made men wait. But this was her first date on this site, so she felt she had no choice but to give it a chance. If it was the complete disaster it seemed likely to be, she could probably at least get her $500 back from the site and get out of her contract.

The site, Perfectmatch.com, was really more of a matchmaking site than an online dating site. It was exorbitantly expensive, but in exchange you would conduct a phone interview with one of their counselors, and then they would arrange a date for you with a person who would suit you. One twist, though, was it required you to go on three dates with whomever it set you up with. The argument was that on the first date you just got to know each other superficially, and those impressions could be wrong. It was only later dates you could determine if there was a real connection.

She looked down at the broach the site provided, to make sure it was visible.

Beverly had joined two weeks ago and this was her first date. Before the date, they provided a broach for the ladies to wear and lapel pins to the gentlemen to help members identify one another. The broach was a gold p and m (for perfectmatch) with the m located above a diagonal p rotated 135 degrees, giving the appearance of a lock. It was quite attractive, and looked expensive. It had reassured her about joining the site once she saw that. Even for her, it was very expensive to join, but she figured she would only have to pay for a month or two before she found her match.

Given she had time to kill, she read once again what she had put into her profile about the type of guy she wanted. She had kept it barebones, because the site also interviewed her and would work at finding a suitable date for her based on that interview.

“I am looking for a life partner,” Beverly had written. “I am finishing up my second year of law school. I am a political junkie, and when not watching the news I enjoy going to the symphony and art museums. My partner must be as ambitious as I am, and help and support me to succeed in my career. He must be able to challenge me intellectually, and yet be silly enough to still make me laugh.”

She had listed a fairly wide range for age, as she wasn’t too particular about that. Beverly had come from a wealthy family, and was used to the wide separation in ages wealthy men often had with their wives.

She was broken from her reverie when a guy sat down opposite her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and rather good-looking, albeit in a brawny way. He looked to be about her age. His five o’clock shadow gave his face a rugged look. Beverly was at first impressed by his handsomeness.

Then she glanced past his face, and disappointment set in. The guy was wearing a Philadelphia Eagles jersey and worn jeans. To a date. To a first date. With her.

Beverly couldn’t believe it.

“Hey! You’re Bee, right? From perfectmatch? I can tell from the broach. I’m Roy.” With that Roy held up a lapel pin that was pinned on the right-side of his jersey.

“It is Beverly. YOU are from Perfectmatch?” Beverly asked, unable to hide the incredulity in her voice.

“Yup. Just joined recently. You’re the first girl they set me up with.”

“No offense, but you weren’t what I was expecting,” Beverly said. “You look,” she almost said poor, but catching herself in case he was some rich internet millionaire or something, “a bit bedraggled,” she finished.

Roy looked down at his outfit. “Bedraggled? What da fuck does that mean? You saying I look poor? No way in Hell I could afford this crazy fucking site, whereas you look like you just walked off the pages of Rich Girls weekly.”

Beverly looked down at her outfit. She was dressed classy for her date, wearing a knee-length black dress with a flared skirt, pearls, some light makeup, and some diamond studs in her ears. The dress was high-cut, as she didn’t want to risk showing any cleavage and giving off the wrong first impression. She looked back at Roy.

“I don’t understand. Didn’t you join perfectmatch? Don’t you have to pay the monthly fee?”

“Some guy told me about it and gave me a gift certificate. I didn’t have to pay, so I figured why not,” Roy replied with a shrug.

Beverly sighed. Just her luck, she got some asshole that received the online dating equivalent of a scholarship. And why the Hell did the site match her up with him?!? He didn’t seem like he would pursue intellectual pursuits with her. In her interview she talked about love of the Symphony, and how a Chopin symphony could send into a Fugue state. Roy looked like he would rather go to a Honky Tonk than hear a symphony. And from the way he was checking out the women around the bar, she figured she knew the type. One of those guys who was proud of how few books he read, as though each book he read would make him less man and more nerd.

“Well, Roy, do you at least have gainful employment?”

“Do I work? Fuck yeah, what do you think I am, a liberal? I work construction. Been doing that for years.”

Beverly was a Liberal Democrat, and came from a family that was active in the local Democratic Party. She heard the derision in his voice as he said ‘liberal.’ Great. Not only did the site match her up with a guy who probably moves his lips when he reads, but they matched her up with some crazy Conservative. State-of-the-art machine learning algorithms ensuring cutting-edge matches, they claimed. This was such a waste of time.

“Okay, I should get going,” Beverely said. “I know we are supposed to have two more dates, but believe me, we are not a ‘perfect match.’ I will call the company and get us out of it.”

Roy’s brow furrowed for a second, before he seemed to remember something and fiddled with the lapel pin he had on. It matched in style the one Beverly was wearing, but instead of the P and M making a lock, the p was rotated 270 degrees and the ‘m’ was below it making a key design.

Beverly couldn’t help but notice the pin. The anger left her as suddenly as water from a popped balloon.

Roy took out his cell phone. “Let’s call the company now and complain. I want to know if I have to suffer through another date with you or not, too.”

Beverly blinked slowly, and then wordlessly took the cell phone and dialed the number for customer support.

After being on hold for a while (with surprisingly interesting music; Beverly found herself getting really into the music and losing track of time), the next thing Beverly noticed was two beeps from the phone indicating a low battery. She noted that the basketball game that had been about to start on one of the screens was now at Halftime. Apparently basketball games were much faster than she thought, as she couldn’t have been on hold for more than 10 minutes.

Roy reached for his phone. “So, what’s up? We have to go on another date?”

Beverly groaned. “I was on hold, so I didn’t reach them. I guess we should, just so that we don’t get accused of breaking the contract and have to pay that crazy fine.”

Roy sighed this time. “Okay, there’s an Eagles game Sunday evening. We can meet again here and just watch the game as our date. That shouldn’t be too painful.”

“Football? Macho idiots giving each other concussions? Sounds like a blast. Fine, see you Sunday.”

On the way back to her condo, Beverly stopped at a bookstore and bought ‘Football for Dummies.’ She wasn’t really sure why. Generally the thought of watching overgrown goons playing a kid’s game would be a turnoff to her. Yet somehow she figured she should prepare for her second date. She’d normally watch the Sunday morning talk shows and then study the rest of the day. Maybe it was time for her to try new things, like understand football a bit. Besides, may help her with blue-collars voters someday if she better understood football, given how popular it was. And maybe seeing Roy again, as frustrating as that would be, would help her develop her people skills with the working-class types. After all, she couldn’t think of a single friend of hers who hadn’t gone to college and most were politically rather liberal. Useful for her to interact with another type for a change.

The next afternoon she begged off some museum exhibit she was going to go to with some friends from school. Instead she raced through the book, and then put on ESPN to see if she could understand what the announcers were talking about. She found the game made much more sense than she had ever realized, and soon found herself watching and enjoying some college football games on TV.

Sunday she tried to her watch her politics shows, but unlike the football games she was finding them both boring and confusing. As she watched the interviews her mind would daydream away from politics and she lost track of what the talking heads were discussing. Plus she kept on forgetting what party the speaker was from, so she couldn’t tell if she was supposed to agree or not. She knew abstractly she should weigh whatever arguments they were discussing on their merit, but she wasn’t feeling engaged enough to do that and preferred to apply some heuristic to help her decide.

Bored, she turned off the TV and opted to get out of the house and do some shopping. She went to the luxury mall near her condo, but it was really difficult to find anything that suited her mood. The racks at Nordstrom and Lord and Taylor were doing nothing for her. She needed some casual outfits, but she was finding that the outfits there just seemed to formal and posh for her.

Frustrated, she decided to try a different mall. She drove the 45 minutes to a rather run-down mall in a somewhat seedier part of town.

Upon entering the mall, she saw a sporting goods store with a display of football jerseys. She saw an Eagles jersey designed for women, and she couldn’t resist purchasing it.

The mall itself, despite her initial impressions of it being run-down, was great. Prices were affordable, and they had a lot of outfits that really appealed to her. Not just overpriced pretentious crap, but real outfits. She found some denim and flannel outfits that she needed, and the prices were low enough she realized she could afford to buy some sexy outfits and lingerie as well.

As she drove back to her condo after shopping, NPR was doing some boring story about some recent debate. She flipped around until she heard a football game on the radio. She listened happily to that the rest of the trip home.

Once home Beverly turned the TV onto a game, watched a few minutes, then decided she should get ready for that night. She had never actually watched football at a bar, having rarely watched a football game at all. An occasional Super Bowl at a friend’s house, but those were almost always more for commercials than the game itself. She should at least experience the camaraderie.

Beverly spent a half hour putting on the makeup she had bought that day. A bit more garish than normal, but it accentuated her cheekbones and made her feel more confident. Then she put on her Eagles jersey, with a push-up bra underneath to make sure guys there knew for sure she was a lady. She added a denim miniskirt, because the bar would probably be warm and it would help keep her cool. She also opted to let her hair down, as the more natural look would better suit that bar.

As an accessory, she added the broach from perfectmatch.

She arrived at the bar about 15 minutes before the game. The bar was crowded, and unlike her previous visit where all the TVs had on different channels, they were all showing the Eagles pre-game.

As Beverly entered she smelled the acrid scent of cigarette smoke, likely from people smoking outside but the smell seeping in. Normally the smell nauseated her a bit, but today she found it a bit charming and gave the place some atmosphere. She had a small smile as she walked into the bar.

She glanced around the place. Unlike her first trip there, when she was overdressed, she seemed to fit in much more easily today. That was primarily driven by the fact that an Eagles jersey was the most common top on both males and females, but even her makeup and denim skirt helped her to blend in.

She saw Roy over at a table with a pitcher of beer and another guy sitting around it. She sauntered over.

Roy was wearing an Eagles jersey, too, and also had on his perfectmatch pin.

“Hey Bee, glad you could make it. Grab a seat,” he smiled.

Beverly sat down and was introduced to the other guy, a high school buddy of Roy’s named Mark.

“You made it, princess. Let me get you a beer.”

Roy’s friend wen to the bar, while Roy poured her a beer. It was cheap domestic beer. Probably Budweiser or Miller. Beverly rarely drank beer, and when she did it was almost always craft beer. Apparently she couldn’t hide her grimace as she drank the beer, as Roy said something about how delicious the beer was, while absentmindedly fiddling with the perfectmatch pin on his chest.

After that first sip, the beer tasted much better. She found herself drinking much faster and more than she planned to.

As the football game started, Beverly found herself enjoying her evening almost regardless of Roy. She understood enough football to whoop at the right times and groan when she should. At first she had felt like an undercover agent, trying to recall when to react, but as the game proceeded and after a beer or two she legitimately got invested in the game and started cheering and jeering for real. She also found herself absent-mindedly drinking her beer, which Roy always kept full, and munching on deep-fried appetizers like chicken wings and onion rings, a far cry from the white truffle popcorn she normally preferred as her appetizer of choice at her local wine bar.

Unlike her first meeting, she was rather enjoying the light conversation with Roy. He may have terrible taste in politics, but he knew a lot about football, and had many strong opinions on other topics. She generally only half paid attention to him as she concentrated on watching the game, although there were a few times when she found herself paying particularly close attention to what he said.

One time was after an ad for the local news had a story about some politician. Beverly, being the political junkie she was, couldn’t resist talking about how the headline was misleading, and the problems with media in this day and age.

Roy interrupted her in the midst of her spiel while holding up the pin, and Beverly found herself absorbed in what he was saying. “You know, you shouldn’t waste so much time thinking about politics, it will just depress you. Focus on happier thoughts.”

Although Beverly couldn’t disagree more, the game came back on and she opted to concentrate on the game.

At another point, an ad for some reality-TV show appeared featuring a bunch of attractive women competing to date some attractive guy. Beverly mentioned the show to Roy.

“I hate that there are still shows like this in the 21st century. As though all a woman wants out of life is a wealthy husband. And they feature catty bimbos giving women a bad name.”

“You’re right,” Roy agreed, surprising Beverly. As Roy fiddled with his pin, he continued. “Women don’t need a husband, although of course women do need male companionship to keep them safe and secure. That’s just evolution, and doesn’t matter if this is the 21st century or the 1st.”

“Uh huh,” she said skeptically.

Roy shrugged. “Let me give you some advice. You gotta be more accepting and agreeable if you want to land a man. No guy likes a woman who always second-guesses him.”

Beverly shook her head. “You’re wrong. Many men like women who challenge them. And besides, these are the same arguments made to stifle women’s rights since the time of Plato. And why would I want to land a ‘man’ who thinks women were designed just to stroke a man’s ego?”

Roy sighed. “You are too smart for your own good. You can’t let yourself be happy and carefree, because you think that that would harm womenkind or some shit like that.”

Roy lowered the pin, and both he and Beverly watched the game after the commercials. Beverly tried to stifle her annoyance by pointedly refusing to talk to him. What did she expect going to watch football with some uneducated cretin? Enlightened opinions? Please. It was not surprising he had a caveman’s understanding of gender inequality. Why did his opinions matter, anyway?

“Look, Roy, I am going to call it an early night and head home. I’ll call the company again during Halftime and see if we can get a refund and out of our last date, okay?”

“Just call now. They have 24/7 customer service, right? Maybe it won’t take long now.”

Beverly rolled her eyes and then called and was once again put on hold for an interminable time. As the music beguiled her, she found the ambient noise from the bar fade away.

Roy shook her a moment later, and Beverly realized that a lot more time had passed than she had realized.

“Yo Bee, halftime is over, let’s watch the game. You can call back tomorrow or something.”

Beverly looked at him with a dreamy smile, and then watched the game with him. As the game proceeded, she couldn’t help but look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was handsome. She was a bit tempted to slum it a little and maybe give him a chance. He seemed like he would know what he was doing in bed, and who cared if they couldn’t discuss the ideas of Germaine Greer. She could do that with her friends, he would be satisfying other needs.

“You said earlier you think I’m too smart for my own good. You really think I’m smart? Sweet of you to say that.”

“Book smart. Not real smart.”

Beverly decided to ignore the insult. “Oh? And what is real smart?’

“Knowing how to get what you want,” Roy said with a smile.

“Hmm, maybe you can help me with that,” she replied, grabbing his thigh and squeezing gently.

After that, it didn’t take them long to begin making out, although stopping often to watch the game.

Once the game ended with an Eagles win, Roy had by then had his hands under her jersey. People in the bar walking by them noted where his hand was, and snickered that they should get a room.

Beverly decided not to go to his room. She had class the next day, and as sexy as Roy was, she still had some willpower.

“I gotta go. We gonna see each other again?”

“Yeah. I gotta see if your tits look as nice as they feel. How about Saturday? We can grab drinks at a bar I know near where I live.”

Beverly happily agreed.

Over the next week Beverly found her life changing. She had attempted again to call perfectmatch and complain about Roy not being a match for her, even if he was sexy, fun and interest. He didn’t seem like a long-term relationship material. Besides, it was a chance for her to get her $500 back.

After calling and being put on hold again (once again with that wonderful music), this time a voice finally came on.

“Customer service,” the voice said. “Based on the phone number you are calling from, may I inquire if I am speaking to Beverly Walsh?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Beverly replied. “I’m just calling to complain about the date you guys set me up with. I’m paying too much money to be set up with just some random bozo!”

“I apologize. Do you mind if I ask if you have finished your three dates with him?”

“No, I’ve been on two so far.”

“Ah, well we cannot issue a refund until you have gone on three dates. You know the terms of service on our end. But do you mind if I ask what the problem is?”

“Where should I start? He’s uneducated, has no career prospects, and is the opposite of most of what I wanted in a guy. Hell, even the simple stuff you guys got wrong. He’s a Republican! How hard is it to get that right?”

“Well Ma’am, I’m sorry you don’t feel like he’s a perfect match. But we often get calls like this before the three dates are over. I’ll give you the same advice I give everybody. Try to meet him halfway, and give him a fair shot. If you do that, I promise to issue you a refund if you are still not satisfied.”

“What do you mean exactly by meet him halfway? What kinds of things should I do?”

“Hmm, give me a minute to look up info about your date. Please hold a minute.”

Beverly was then put on hold and was miffed for a second, but then the delightful music came back on. An hour later, when the voice returned and gave her some advice, she failed to realize how long she was on hold nor even that the voice came back on and gave her guidance.

After that conversation her classes, which had been challenging before, had become downright impossible. In one of her law classes she swore she only understood at most three words. It was like they were speaking Chinese the whole class.

Her other classes weren’t going much better, and she found herself just skipping them more and more. She was getting nothing out of them, so why bother attending?

But that wasn’t the only thing that changed. Her friends were also changing on her. Acting all snobbish and using big words, as though they were getting paid by the syllable. They came across as pretentious and annoying. Who the fuck wanted to read subtitles in order just to watch a movie? Or really cared about some dictatorship in Eritrea?

Instead of hanging out with them and going to a lecture at the University, she bowed out and decided to do more shopping. Most of her clothes were designed either for comfort, the jeans and sweatshirts outfit typical of a student, or to project professionalism, such as Ann Taylor pants suits. She needed some outfits that were more fun; no need to always appear so serious.

She returned to the mall she had enjoyed last time.

That mall had numerous stores that targeted more of the clubbing crowd, with names that replaced an ‘S’ with a ‘Z’ such as ‘Trendz.’ But another thing Beverly noticed was that the clientele around the mall made her feel more at ease. Women dresseded in brighter colors and had bigger hair. The men looked sexier, in their work shirts, five o’clock shadow, and muscular biceps. And the prices were cheap. Yeah, there was a bit of quality gap, but she could make up for that by sheer quantity.

And she took advantage of the savings. She purchased microdresses for clubbing, tank tops for hanging out, tube tops for hanging out with guys, cutoff shorts, miniskirts, booty shorts, push-up bras, thongs, shoes, and makeup. She had stopped looking at prices, and just bought out anything she thought would make her look more attractive to men.

She wore one of her new outfits out of the mall as she tottered toward her car. A red halter top and black miniskirt combo. A classic look, she thought. It made her boobs look bigger, while still showing she had legs.

She considered calling up Roy and seeing what he would be up to that night. She really wasn’t far from where he lived, but decided against it. She had been thinking about him more, but wasn’t quite ready to just call him and ask him out.

Instead she headed back home to put away all her exciting new clothes.

Beverly lived in a condo near campus, which was a convenient location except that it was next to a frat house, so it was loud at times. As she parked, she noticed two of the frat boys out front, tossing a football back and forth.

Normally she couldn’t stand those frat boys. Their loud tailgating woke her up, their parties seemed to be little more than orgies, and they seemed to think that studying was a waste of time when they could be partying.

But as Beverly thought about that, she realized her gripes were more just lazy remnants of past concerns and not how she currently felt. Tailgating was fun, she had to admit, so why should it bother her if they did it?

And what did it matter if the frat was more known for parties than studying? Book learning was overrated. Roy didn’t go to college, and she was starting to think that he was smart and saved a bunch of money by working instead of going to school. Maybe the frat boys were smart, focusing on using their tuition money to enjoy life rather than just learn something from a book. As Roy said, those eggheads may think they are all high and mighty, but hardly knew anything that mattered in the real world.

And who was she to judge their parties?!? She hadn’t even been to one. Looking at those fine specimens tossing the ball, she now realized it would be fun to rectify that. And if the party really did become an orgy? Well, there were worse ways to spend an evening.

After thinking it through, Beverly wobbled over to watch the guys.

“Nice catch,” she called out as one made a running catch.

“Thanks,” replied the man who made the catch. He checked out the girl. He liked what he saw. The girl looked trampy, with considerable cleavage showing, and a short skirt and heels revealing her legs. His first thought was she was one of the sorostitutes from one of their sister sororities, but he knew almost all those girls by now. His next thought was she may be one of the townie girls, who sometimes wanted to go to a frat party to get free alcohol. Cheaper than heading to the bar for them, and for the guys these girls when drunk would fuck a horse, not to mention a college boy. Win-win.

“I’m Blake,” the catcher said, introducing himself. “You know, we’re having a party here tonight. You should stop by!”

Beverly paused a moment, thinking. Why were her instincts so different than normal? Here was some frat boy salivating over her like a starving man over a McDonald’s. He wasn’t even trying to hide his leering at her chest. And yet she felt flattered, not offended. She enjoyed being checking out.

“I’m Bev. See ya there.”

The party that night was in full swing when Beverly stopped by. She was immediately handed a red plastic cup full of cheap beer, and found herself drinking it rapidly. She watched some guys play beer pong and played some herself for the first time. She was terrible at it, but had fun.

After the beer pong, Blake found her and asked if she wanted to dance. She joined him on the dance floor. Never big on dancing before, she no longer felt self-conscious and so enjoyed herself more. The only thing she felt self-conscious about was making sure she maintained the interest of guys. This resulted in dancing more sensual than she normally did, along with a lot more grinding and twerking. She even stood upon a table at one point and danced there, feeling aroused by all the guys staring lustfully at her.

After dancing, she joined Blake back in his room. As soon as the door to his room closed, she found herself on her knees. The rest of the night was a blur, but she retained some fragments from the night. One thing she noted was she was now a screamer. She had never done that before, but once Blake had finally started the actual intercourse, she found herself feeling really primal and moaned and yelled quite loudly. Blake ended up stuffing something in her mouth. She remembered that although this was the first time this had happened to her, it didn’t feel like the first time. It felt, normal, maybe? Not anything to be worried about, that was for sure.

The next morning, Blake shook her awake. “Bev, I just checked my phone. I got a text from my girlfriend, and she may stop by today. So you gotta get out of here so I can clean up.”

Bev hadn’t realized he had a girlfriend, but didn’t let that bother her. It was fun, but that didn’t mean they had to be a couple. Why over think it? She found a post-it note and a pen, wrote down her name and number, and drew a heart around it. She smiled as she handed it to Blake, and gave him a sultry kiss.

“Don’t hesitate to call sometime. I needed that.”

She then looked around for her clothes, and saw her dress crumpled up near the bed. She couldn’t find her panties anywhere. Probably got ripped last night, she thought. Oh well, they had been cheap.

Blake watched her shimmy into her dress.

“Damn, you look hot. You mind if I take a pic of you?”

“Sure.” Bev thrust out her chest and made a pouty face that she hoped look sexy. She really wanted Blake to give her a call again at some point. When else could she sleep with a college boy?

After the pic and as she started what she used to view as a walk-of-shame back home in her tight minidress, a realization came to Beverly.

Even though she remembered calling it a walk of shame and feeling embarrassed for those poor girls she would see walking back to their rooms in their tight and slight outfits Saturday or Sunday mornings, she didn’t feel at all ashamed herself. She had had fun, and if a guy saw her this morning, all the better. He would know she was fun. And if some frigid bitch saw her and judged her, well, who cared what she thought?

Then a second, more alarming thought, came. Why wasn’t she ashamed? Why did she feel some weird pride? And where had that thought about sleeping with a college boy come from? Why did she even think of the word ‘college?’ She went to college herself. All her friends went to college, with one or two recent exceptions. Shouldn’t she just think of him as a boy? And yet, knowing that Blake went to college made her feel like he was better than her in some way. Like in looks she was an 8 and he was a 6, but because he went to college that bumped him up to a 9 or 10. That may explain why it didn’t bother her that he had a girlfriend and didn’t mention this fact until after they had slept together. He was too good for her to be her boyfriend, after all.

She made it back to her room, finally. Exhausted, she took off her dress and crawled, naked, into bed. She felt too tired to close the blinds. Let some guys check her out if they wish, she thought.

She awoke a few hours later, showered, and then put on some casual clothes. The ripped jeans shorts made her ass pop, she thought, and the push-up demi-bra and white tank top completed the look. She flipped on the TV and watched some judge show for a bit, before realizing that there were a bunch of college football games on TV. She felt like if she was going to watch a football game, she should do so surrounded by a crowd.

Beverly didn’t know where the nearest sports bar was, so she used her Yelp app to look some up. The one nearest her didn’t really appeal to her, based on the reviews. It was three dollar signs, first of all, and the reviews often praised its selection of microbrews. Fuck that, she thought. Who wants to have to read a book just to order a beer? Beers should be served in a pitcher, and all you really needed to decide was between regular and light.

The second place Yelp mentioned appealed to her more. It was a local chain of sports bar that were basically a Hooters rip-off called Racks, that had pool tables in the back and waitresses who wear a low-cut black-and-white striped uniform that made them look like sexy referees. What that had to do with Racks Beverly had no idea.

Beverly headed over there and noticed a Help Wanted sign in the front window. She had spent a small fortune shopping yesterday, and still hadn’t done the math to figure out how much she spent exactly. But being a student didn’t pay anything, and she would have to pay the bills somehow. So she decided to apply.

After the hostess gave her an application, and as she filled it out, she noted it must have been a while since she had handwritten something, as her writing looked different than she remembered. Less graceful somehow.

When she completed the application, the hostess told her she could just hand it over to the manager in the back. She knocked on the door, and a voice called out “Yeah?” She gently opened the door, and saw a well-built black man typing something in a computer. He looked up her, and his eyes had an intensity that intimidated her a bit.

“I have an application,” she squeaked. “I was told to hand this to you.”

“Come in, come in. Let me take a look at you,” he said. “Hmm, you look hot. You ever waitress before?”

“Nope,” she said, a bit nervously. Was this going to stop her from getting the job?

“That’s fine. You got the tits to fill out the uniform. You’re hired.”

Beverly started that day, and enjoyed the work immensely. Lots of cute guys were there to flirt with; the other waitresses were really nice and really smart, having all sorts of advice on how to improve her waitressing and to get more tips. Over the next few days, she cut her classes to work at the restaurant, as she found it much more rewarding anyway.

A few days later, at long last, Roy texted her. It was a picture of his dick, with a caption that said “Been thinking of you.”

Beverly laughed. He was so witty! And thinking of her, too. She immediately headed to the bathroom, took off her top, and texted him back a picture of her hard nipples with the caption “Thinking of your latest pic right now.”

A few minutes later, Roy called her.

“Hey, Bev. Was wondering if you’d like to watch the Eagles game this weekend?”

Bev smiled. She fondly remembered him feeling her tits, and how aroused that made her. He knew how to use his hands, unlike those college boys who probably couldn’t hammer a nail if there wasn’t an app to teach them how. She also remembered how smart he seemed, with his hard-fought real-world knowledge.

“I’d love to, but I have to work.”

“What? I thought you college gals got off on weekends.”

“College gal? Whatever. I work as a waitress at Racks now,” Bev said.

“That Hooters rip-off with the bimbos dressed like refs?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” she replied cheerfully, oblivious to the insult in the comment.

“Can you get me free beer there?” Roy asked.

“Sure. Stop by.”

Roy came by a few hours later. He noticed Bev was serving a table a pitcher of beer, so he snuck up behind her and once she had set down the pitcher he slapped her ass.

Bev turned, and smiled broadly when she saw who it was.

Roy smiled back. “Couldn’t resist, babe, seeing you in that outfit.”

“I can wear it for you any time.”

Once her shift ended, she went home with Roy. By then he was drunk and pawing her crudely, but it was effective at turning her on.

Once again, she found that during sex she was a screamer. Roy lived in a small apartment with thin walls, so she knew that she was audible to others in the building. But that didn’t faze her, and Roy didn’t bother trying to quiet her down. He seemed to enjoy her moans.

Over the next few weeks, Beverly moved her stuff into his small apartment. She was spending all her time there anyway. Also, the place had been a pigsty. So she had spent a lot of her free time cleaning up after him. She tried to nag him to help out, but he just said cleaning and cooking were women’s work and she had better know her place if she was going to be with him. That always made her stop her nagging and concentrate on doing her chores for him. He usually showed his appreciation by slapping her ass as she was almost finished and then taking her to the bedroom to fuck her senseless.

She also got along well with Roy’s friends. Mark, for instance, had seemed gruff when she had first met him, but she now viewed him favorably. Mostly because he said nice things about her, namely that she was Roy’s type: dumb, submissive and horny. She giggled at that, which is what she tended to do to many of the things Roy or his friends said. Roy didn’t like it when she spoke up and shared her opinions, so she rarely did so.

One evening, as Roy and Beverly were watching a hockey game, he checked his phone and he chuckled. “That perfectmatch site wants us to take a survey. We are supposed to read our profile of our desired other, and then evaluate the site for how well they did on finding that type. You up to do the survey?”

“Sure. You can fill it out for me. Just give them a good rating. Because of them I got to meet you.”

“Thanks, Babe. Glad I joined, too. Anyway, let’s read our profiles. Let’s see, you wrote ‘I need a man in my life. Not a boy, a man.’” Roy smiled at that. He continued reading the profile: “I want a man who will take care of me, but still can make me wet. I enjoy football and articles about celebrities. I hate brainiacs who look down at us working girls.”

Roy smiled again. “Hmm, does sound like me.”

Beverly smiled, pleased that Roy was pleased. She didn’t remember writing that, and it didn’t exactly seem like her internal voice. Oh well, she mentally shrugged. If she didn’t write that, who did?

She watched Roy take a swig of his Budweiser, and then belch. She was so lucky to have found her perfect match.