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Schoolgirl Roleplay and Drunken Blackout

Only once have I done a schoolgirl roleplay, and only once blacked out from too much alcohol, and even then I’m not sure it qualifies as a true drunken blackout. The schoolgirl roleplay and the drunken blackout are connected, but thankfully did not happen on the same day.

My brief friend and later not-friend G who takes me to the Marijuana Anonymous meeting is also the one who introduces me to Francis. 

Francis is a smooth talker. He’s got gelled curly shoulder length, dark brown hair, a flat, Scandinavian face, and bright blue eyes. He thinks he’s more handsome and successful than he is, and this leads to stylized selfies. One of my friends sees his profile photo and is convinced he is a werewolf. He turns out to be surprisingly accurate in this.

We have dinner. He pays. We go back to his house that he and his roommates are being evicted from.

Have sex

I’m in bed with him. Wearing some cute skinny jeans dark blue and a purple shirt that belts just under my boobs and gives me some play for a belly I think I have.

Maybe that’s how he knows, who knows, how he knows to say what he says. We trade dating profiles and look through each other’s and smile and laugh and later in bed he says.

“You’re not curvy, you should change that.”

And even though I’ve been doing tons of yoga I still have a good amount of arc to my curves so I know he is lying but I still love it when he finishes:

“You’re fit.”

Fit I am, but curvy as well. 

That moment forgotten for oxytocin highs and kisses and such vulnerable sex, so needy and desperate I can’t help but be pulled in, pulled towards him. His naked body best suited for sitting in front of a computer is not fit compared to mine, but I don’t care or see it or even remember what it looked like.

What I remember was him needing reassurance that this would not be the last time we do this before we did it. His big, blue eyes welling up with tears and how hot and hard his erection throbbed when I told him that we’d do it again.

I disassociate, not exactly attracted to him but reflecting his desire.

Two weeks later he moves in with me. I don’t know how it happened. He needed a place to live and made six figures. I saw the money and the loyalty and made a stupid, bad decision.

We have a meeting in the big house with Uschi Obermaier so that she can approve him living on her property. He is obsequious and anxious, overperforming for her. She isn’t fooled, and privately questions me on whether I am doing the right thing. She’s right, but it’s none of her business.

Francis and I live together for a few months. At first, it goes fine. He’s a brilliant programmer. The startup he works for goes under the week he moves in. I work not to far from his desk and he is on the phone all week, I overhear him headhunted into a new job within a week. Money is never the problem.

I notice that Francis’ behavior isn’t always stable. He calls me freaked out one day because he accidentally drove away from the gas pump without removing the nozzle from his car. He asks me what to do about it. I tell him to go back to the gas station and face the music, or else it will end up in a court case. He doesn’t. It ends up in a court case and he has to pay six thousand dollars in damages.

We have lots of sex. It’s at this time that I attend a class on Dirty Talk and Roleplay at The Pleasure Chest in West Hollywood. I get excited to try out roleplay, because I never have. The class breaks it down.

The first thing they teach is to find characters that work for you. I talk to Francis and we settle on professor/schoolgirl. I have always responded well to being the teacher’s pet and though it doesn’t seem very creative I’m cool starting there. So, the schoolgirl roleplay forms.

The teachers of the class also stressed that this is a role like any other. The more detailed the backstory we have for the characters, the better we can act. And so we go deeply into the professor’s life and motivations and the schoolgirl’s as well. Professor is in a sexless marriage with a wife that nags and picks on him. He has never fucked a student before, and it will cost him everything. The schoolgirl loves sex and fucking, and just wants to see if she can get him. She also wants a better grade to please her demanding parents. She plays innocent to get what she wants.

I shop for a cute schoolgirl outfit for my schoolgirl roleplay.

End up with a short pink skirt with a faux argyle pattern, a white, skin tight shirt with pink trim on poofy sleeves that fastens using a series of so many clasps it works somewhat like a corset, pushing up and displaying my breasts nicely. 

And of course, knee-high sports socks, white, with pink stripes at the top. Hair in pigtails and some lip gloss and I am surprised at how good I actually look.

Francis finds himself a tweed jacket with elbow patches and we are good to go. 

At first it is awkward. But this is also what I learned in the class: it will always be awkward at first. Stick with it. Push through the ridiculousness, the laughter, the awkwardness – and the roles will take over. 

And they do. 

Timidly picking at one of my socks, sitting on the edge of the bed which isn’t a bed, it’s a chair in my professor’s office.

“Mr. Pavo I really can’t take this grade home.” I say pouting, tears welling up in my eyes. “You don’t know what will happen if I do.” I shake my head sadly.

He reaches out to console me, but then pulls his hand back, catching himself. I see it. Stare at it.

“If there’s anything I can do, I can write another paper…” I offer.

“The semester is over, there’s no time for any of that. Besides I really don’t want to grade another paper.” he says.

“But have you submitted our grades? Is it final?” I ask, the desperation showing in my voice. 

Francis inhales deeply, his hand still hovering awkwardly in the air.


“Then isn’t there something, anything I can do to change your mind?” I plead. I see the conflict in his eyes. We both know whether it’s going and this is his last chance to head it off.

I catch his hand in the air and put it on my knee, looking down at it. 

“I won’t tell anyone”, I say, head still tilted down but turning my eyes up to him, adding an invitation into my voice and dialing down the pleading tone.

Keep my hand on top of his. Wait a moment. Remove my hand. His hand stays.

“I won’t tell anyone at all.” I repeat, leaning forward just a bit. 

Twenty minutes later I’m face down with my hands belted together behind my back. My skirt is lifted, white cotton underwear around my knees, Francis’ dick is slamming into my pussy with rage and lust of his character, pent up longer than Francis has actually been alive. He fucks me like he is someone else, awkward, fast, angry. He’s fully clothed, having pulled his dick through his fly. Spittle drips as he, red-faced murmurs guilty, angry things and calls me names for tempting him. As he comes he cries out:

“Fuck her, fuck this job, fuck it all.” 

The schoolgirl roleplay is a smashing success.

A week or so later I’m working selling fancy sodas (see my book Down and Out in California for more on this) and I get a phone call from a stranger.

“You don’t know me, I used to be Francis’ best friend.” he starts.

He tells me that Francis has dissociative disorder, which I already know, because Francis has told me. I have seen Francis dissociate and it’s mild and he comes back quickly. But then he tells me that that’s not how it usually manifests.

There is a string of court cases against him for violence against different women

He gives me a phone number and sends me photos to prove everything he is saying. The most egregious of the cases shows him strangling a woman, which resulted in a broken neck. 

The thing is – something is also weird about this guy. Why he is so interested in protecting women from Francis is still a mystery to me. So, I don’t immediately kick Francis out. After all, we just had a hot schoolgirl roleplay and I’m looking forward to trying more.

However, I do have the sense to immediately drive home from work. Francis is out visiting his child, who he gets supervised visits with once a week, and talks to three times a week. I head to the bedroom, open the bedside table drawer, and remove the illegal .45 given to me by The Madman. Removing the bullets from the clip and the clip from the gun, I pack the whole thing in a case that I then pack inside another suitcase. 

I drive three hours and give the gun back to The Madman. I then drive three hours back in the other direction, but instead of going home, I go to a party at my friend’s place.

My friend is bipolar, and Russian, the one who asked after my Russian lover’s dick, and greets me holding a tray full of vodka shots and homemade pickles. Throughout the night, she find me, shoves a shot of vodka in my hand, and forces me to do it with her. By the end of the night, she is pouring them into my mouth against my will. I have long known that drinking with Russians is a bad idea. This night is yet another example.

The drunken blackout ensues. 

I finally get away from my friend and head to my car. It takes me a while to find it, and a while to get into it. Once I am sitting at the wheel, the rule I have made for myself looms large:

If I am too drunk to walk, I am too drunk to drive.

“Fuck.” I say, slicing the side of the steering wheel with my key in lieu of finding the ignition. 

I have a friend and ex-boyfriend that lives on the same block as the vodka coercion Russian, and keys to his house. He already told me earlier that it was fine to stay there. Before I begin the arduous half block walk to his house, I send a text to Francis that in my drunken blackout mind is perfectly formed, letting him know I won’t be home that night. In the morning, I see that the text is 100% gibberish, just a string of letters that give zero context.

The drunken blackout is apparently what I need to deal with the news, because a few days later I decide to bring it up. I tell Francis about the call and the proof. He denies it. Says dude has it out for him.

“But you just talked to this guy once, you KNOW me.” he says, pleading.

There are court cases available online under Francis’ name – but every one of them was posted there by the whistleblower friend. I know that there is some truth to it, but I also, to this day, don’t know the real truth. I don’t think Francis has that kind of violence in him, nor that physical strength, but definitely something psychotic is going on with him.

But no, that’s not why I leave him. I rarely leave for the right reasons. It’s always something less obvious than the obvious reason that triggers me to actually leave.

We stay together, but my attraction flips like a switch and I am actively searching for a way out of this mess I’m in now – but I can no longer afford to kick him out.

A couple weeks later when he acts strangely about going to see a friend. He leaves his iPad open on the bed when he goes, which he also never does. When I pick it up I see a line that turns my stomach. He’s telling a woman who has been begging him for sex that he’s on the way.

“Make sure you are showered and trimmed.” is the line. Hearing him talk down to someone else like that when he did nothing but put me on a pedestal.

When he gets back that night I throw it in his face. He reacts calmly and coolly. Tells me he left it out intentionally for me to see to get us out of this situation that clearly isn’t working. We had a monogamous agreement. I am furious. I tell him he has two days to move out.

He does it in two hauls, but still manages to not get all of his stuff. I change all the locks and round up everything that he left and stuff it in the trash. At the top of it is his child’s teddy bear.

I never see or hear from him again. 

Have you done any hot roleplay? Tell me about it in the comments!

Other Crazy Men:

The Madman

The Mad Scientist

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