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Super-Earth
- Joined
- Jun 15, 2013
- Location
- UK
Main cast:
Stephanie Bullington
Maya Rivera
Bright lights; loud music; fake IDs; the rush of alcohol in youthful veins.
"This is what college life is all about!" yelled Stephanie Bullington, raising her voice above the music and grinning at Monea L'Kai, raising also a half-full glass of Long Island iced tea to clink with Monea's mojito. The pair were roomies at UCLA and both freshmen; Stephanie was a music major, Monea an aspiring artist. It had been little more than a month since the former had left family and friends far behind and moved hundreds of miles to attend the college of her choice. It was more than just the college which attracted her to LA, however; it was the city itself, and the opportunity to change her surroundings and see a whole new part of the country.
At 5'6" and possessed of a sultry, slender hourglass figure, Stephanie was a welcome addition for any student of UCLA who had a taste for the fairer sex. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, and the same shade lurked at the roots of her dyed blonde hair, which tonight hung in bangs astride her beautiful oval face. Where she was fair of skin - albeit sun-kissed - her roommate was the ebony to her ivory, and her frizzy black hair was tied atop her head in a tight bun, adding an extra couple of inches to her 5'8" frame. Her face was too round for her own liking, her lips too full, but she had a lively spirit to match Stephanie's, and the two got on like the proverbial house on fire.
"I know, right?! You got moves, girl!" Monea grinned back, and the pair drank together in salute to a frivolous night on the town. "I didn't know you white girls could dance like that!" It was all friendly flattery but it was well-received, and in truth, Stephanie was rather graceful on the dance floor. She'd studied ballet as a child, and while the nightclub was no place for pliés or pas de chats, she still maintained an elegance of movement and had a good feel for rhythm.
"Haha! Yeah, you'd better look out: I can do all the things you can do, just as well! Don't tell anyone-" she leaned close to Monea as if to divulge a secret, "but I love watermelon too." Pulling back, she grinned mirthfully; Monea shook her head and stiffened her lips in admonishment, but it was a façade she couldn't maintain. The two shared a similar sense of humour, and she too began to laugh. What was a social faux-pas amongst strangers could easily be shared as a joke amongst well-meaning friends.
"I'll get you for that... but first, I need to pee. These mojitos are going through me. You coming?"
Stephanie shrugged as Monea downed the rest of her cocktail, raising her own glass to inspect its quickly disappearing contents.
"I don't know... I'm afraid you might try to drown me," she laughed. "How about you go pee and I'll get in another round of drinks?"
"You are on a mission tonight, aren't you? Whatevs - I'll be back in five!"
As Monea's chocolate body disappeared into the crowd - her voluptuous derrière swaying in the confines of her outlandish green dress - Stephanie allowed her eyes to wander about the club before turning towards the bar. Inside the Rivera Riviera, the atmosphere had reached fever pitch. Midnight had come and gone and the club now thronged to full capacity beneath the flickering strobes and a fluid, ever-changing sea of colour. Bare legs and backs were plentiful, bare breasts scarcely beyond imagination amidst the plethora of skimpy, low-cut tops worn by the fairer side of the crowd. Rainbow banners hanging from the rafters and behind the bar indicated that it was LGBT Night, as did the overly-stereotypical dress sense of some of the bartenders, sporting side-shaved hair cuts and t-shirts which were tucked into themselves at the chest, creating some kind of make-shift belly-top.
It was still all rather novel for the young woman: at 17, she'd never been in a real nightclub before, and she had fretted almost as much over her attire as her heart had when presenting the imposing bouncer at the door with her fake ID. In the end, she'd chosen a tight, slinky red dress which clung to her hips and firm, round behind, though it did little to cover the smooth, shapely legs which ran down to her sequinned wedges. A silver bracelet gleamed upon her left wrist and the dress left her shoulders bare; only the firm grip it had about her ample bosom kept the garment in place.
Stephanie Bullington
Maya Rivera
Bright lights; loud music; fake IDs; the rush of alcohol in youthful veins.
"This is what college life is all about!" yelled Stephanie Bullington, raising her voice above the music and grinning at Monea L'Kai, raising also a half-full glass of Long Island iced tea to clink with Monea's mojito. The pair were roomies at UCLA and both freshmen; Stephanie was a music major, Monea an aspiring artist. It had been little more than a month since the former had left family and friends far behind and moved hundreds of miles to attend the college of her choice. It was more than just the college which attracted her to LA, however; it was the city itself, and the opportunity to change her surroundings and see a whole new part of the country.
At 5'6" and possessed of a sultry, slender hourglass figure, Stephanie was a welcome addition for any student of UCLA who had a taste for the fairer sex. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, and the same shade lurked at the roots of her dyed blonde hair, which tonight hung in bangs astride her beautiful oval face. Where she was fair of skin - albeit sun-kissed - her roommate was the ebony to her ivory, and her frizzy black hair was tied atop her head in a tight bun, adding an extra couple of inches to her 5'8" frame. Her face was too round for her own liking, her lips too full, but she had a lively spirit to match Stephanie's, and the two got on like the proverbial house on fire.
"I know, right?! You got moves, girl!" Monea grinned back, and the pair drank together in salute to a frivolous night on the town. "I didn't know you white girls could dance like that!" It was all friendly flattery but it was well-received, and in truth, Stephanie was rather graceful on the dance floor. She'd studied ballet as a child, and while the nightclub was no place for pliés or pas de chats, she still maintained an elegance of movement and had a good feel for rhythm.
"Haha! Yeah, you'd better look out: I can do all the things you can do, just as well! Don't tell anyone-" she leaned close to Monea as if to divulge a secret, "but I love watermelon too." Pulling back, she grinned mirthfully; Monea shook her head and stiffened her lips in admonishment, but it was a façade she couldn't maintain. The two shared a similar sense of humour, and she too began to laugh. What was a social faux-pas amongst strangers could easily be shared as a joke amongst well-meaning friends.
"I'll get you for that... but first, I need to pee. These mojitos are going through me. You coming?"
Stephanie shrugged as Monea downed the rest of her cocktail, raising her own glass to inspect its quickly disappearing contents.
"I don't know... I'm afraid you might try to drown me," she laughed. "How about you go pee and I'll get in another round of drinks?"
"You are on a mission tonight, aren't you? Whatevs - I'll be back in five!"
As Monea's chocolate body disappeared into the crowd - her voluptuous derrière swaying in the confines of her outlandish green dress - Stephanie allowed her eyes to wander about the club before turning towards the bar. Inside the Rivera Riviera, the atmosphere had reached fever pitch. Midnight had come and gone and the club now thronged to full capacity beneath the flickering strobes and a fluid, ever-changing sea of colour. Bare legs and backs were plentiful, bare breasts scarcely beyond imagination amidst the plethora of skimpy, low-cut tops worn by the fairer side of the crowd. Rainbow banners hanging from the rafters and behind the bar indicated that it was LGBT Night, as did the overly-stereotypical dress sense of some of the bartenders, sporting side-shaved hair cuts and t-shirts which were tucked into themselves at the chest, creating some kind of make-shift belly-top.
It was still all rather novel for the young woman: at 17, she'd never been in a real nightclub before, and she had fretted almost as much over her attire as her heart had when presenting the imposing bouncer at the door with her fake ID. In the end, she'd chosen a tight, slinky red dress which clung to her hips and firm, round behind, though it did little to cover the smooth, shapely legs which ran down to her sequinned wedges. A silver bracelet gleamed upon her left wrist and the dress left her shoulders bare; only the firm grip it had about her ample bosom kept the garment in place.