Charles kicked his own roommate out, more or less (guys deal with that more sanely than girls, I think [there's no way I could have done it to my roommate], but despite the transaction being relatively businesslike I have to admit to feeling rather stimulated by the urgency with which my betrothed lord went about making sure I would be in his bed every night, to the point of really being a bit unfeeling for the displaced roommate--yet another paradox of hotness, I guess, for he clearly felt it, too: when the door closed behind the roommate and the roommate's stuff, Charles turned me around, my face to the door, lifted my skirt, lowered my panties, and entered me, hard, so that I cried out in a way that the roommate must have recognized), and I moved in with him.
I ended up as a summer associate in New York, which put a small crimp in what we later called our summer of anal love, but, because the firms want you to give them your heart and soul after you graduate, it wasn't too much of a burden in the end (heh). . . .
For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.
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