Manufactured Misfortune
Your name is Ronald "Ron" Harrison, and you like to think you're a pretty well-rounded guy. You have short cut brown hair and matching brown eyes. You keep your body in good shape through regular exercise, but you aren't overly athletic and are just as likely to play video games as you are to go for a run. When it comes to school you're neither top of your class nor a miserable failure, rather you maintain an above average GPA, just low enough to keep you from getting any extra attention.
And that's your only real problem, you're constantly holding yourself back, perfectly fine being a background character throughout your high school career. If you tried harder in any area you'd excel. Honors courses from good grades, top athlete in the sport of your choice, the head of any club you join, even student council president isn't out of the question if you buckled down and tried harder. You know it frustrates your parents that you're "wasting your untapped potential" in their words, but thankfully they refrain from constantly urging you to do more.
As a side effect of all this you really don't have any one group of friends in school either. Neither a loner nor a social butterfly like your sister, you're on good terms with pretty much everyone, boy or girl, and have friendly conversations with whoever is nearby. You will admit it gets a bit lonely at times, but you manage to quash those thoughts under homework, study, exercise, and gaming.
Right now it's Saturday afternoon and you just got back from a jog around the park with your sister Emily. It was her turn to shower first so you're browsing your phone in your room. Your parents had gone to the grocery store not too long ago to grab some food for dinner, leaving only you and Emily in the house. As you browsed through random news stories on your phone it suddenly vibrated, surprising you as an unknown number just sent you a text.
With nothing better to do you click on it, thinking you could waste some scammer's time by messing with them.
How was your jog?
Now that certainly got your attention. How was your jog? Were you being followed at the park? Was it Emily they were following? What's going on here? Before you could think of a reasonable explanation you received another text.
Before you start panicking, relax, that was just so you wouldn't think this was a scam.
You breathe a sigh of relief as the next text came in.
Now that I have your attention, I have a proposition for you, so bare with me while I type this out.
You don't know who I am, but I know who you are. I'm not a stalker, I just have all the right connections, which is how I know that you could easily do better at school, but always hold yourself back. You get along with almost everyone, but never try to build any lasting friendships. You're a very trustworthy individual, which is why I decided you would be perfect for aiding me with what I have in mind. Do you follow?
You're weary of what this person has planned, but you send a quick reply.
Yes
Good. Now I also know that you're no saint either. I believe this proves my point.
Suddenly a picture's sent through and once it loads you see yourself, clear as day, staring at the ass of one of the girls in your class as she bent over and her skirt rode up, providing a tantalizing view of her thighs. You stare at it, wide-eyed and trying to figure out how this was taken. From the angle, the photographer must've been outside and looking in through the windows.
Your phone vibrates once again.
Don't worry, I'm not here to blackmail you, in fact I already deleted the picture. I just needed to prove that I know there's a perv in you, even if you do a good job hiding it. And that's another reason I picked you, aside from your good relations and trustworthiness. I need someone who's a perv like you who, let's say, "appreciates the view" in a harmless manner, and not just some pathetic virgin who creeps girls out with his staring and drooling. You follow?
Your furrowed brows give the answer, but since they can't see that you text them back.
Not really. What does me being a perv have to do with my social life? And why does it matter to you anyways?
You wait a few minutes for a reply, idly listening to the faint sound of Emily singing in the shower. Just when she hits the chorus your phone vibrates again.
Well, I suppose I should fill you in completely. Believe it or not, I'm a girl in your grade, but like I said you don't know me. I'm kind of like you, I get along with all the girls in our grade just fine, but being a girl myself I know much more personal things about them than you do. To keep it simple, know these two things.
1: Every girl has a little bit of an exhibitionist in her. I mean it makes sense, all girls love complement on their body, so they dress in ways that draw attention to them, mainly in the form of more revealing or tighter clothing. This is still true for all our female classmates, trust me. 2: All the girls in our grade, except yours truly, is a bit spacey, to put it nicely. When they're focused, it's very easy for things to slip past them. Like how people in a rush to leave in the morning leave their car keys in the house, for example.
With those in mind, this is my plan: You pick a girl to get close too, and I'll provide you with information on how to get them out of their clothes without them being none the wiser.
You stare at your phone in disbelief. Is she seriously suggesting you try and strip a girl naked without getting caught? This has to be a prank. You're about to give her a piece of your mind when they text again.
I know how it sounds, you probably don't believe me. I'll give you a reason to trust me real quick, but first give me a fake name, like a username. What do you have to lose?
You seriously consider ending this right there, but decide to humor her. You think for a moment before smirking and text her.
X2Doubt
Ha ha, nice one! Give me one second.
Again you sit and wait for a text. Emily isn't singing anymore but the water's still running so she'll probably be done soon. After minute more you get a text.
Looking down you're surprised to see not a message, but a picture, or rather a selfie to be more accurate.
A nude selfie.
Sitting in a swivel chair with the camera pointing down at her is a naked teenage girl, her head cut off by the top of the picture. Her shapely legs are crossed so you can't make out the goods, but it's clear she shaves down there. In front of her perky C-cup breasts she's holding two papers. The one in front reads "I hope you believe me now, X2Doubt. I'm not home alone so this is extremely risky!" written in green permanent marker. The second paper was mostly covered by the first, but you could make out the algebra worksheet everyone in your grade got yesterday.
As you continue to stare you're startled by your phone vibrating again.
Anonymously email that picture to any girl at school, or even your sister, and they'll know who it is, I guarantee it. The last thing I need my nude selfie going viral.
You look at the picture one more time and quickly save it to a secure folder.
Okay, I'll believe you. Just tell me one thing, why me? Surely there are other trustworthy guys out there. And what do you get out of this, exposing your own friends?
There's a brief pause.
I chose you because you won't try and take advantage of anyone. Can't say the same for some of the more creepy or obnoxious boys in our grade. As for myself, just know that I'll be enjoying the show just as much as you are ;)
I need you to promise one last thing, okay?
What is it?
Don't try and find out who I am. I've avoided names specifically so, in a worst case scenario, nothing can be linked back to us. So long as you had my selfie well enough ;)
You can't help by smile at the playful attitude she's giving you.
Deal. What now?
Now we wait. I'll text you tomorrow around the same time to choose how to proceed. Take care!
You too.
With a sigh you close your phone and rub your eyes, wondering what you've gotten yourself into.
You notice the water's turned off in the bathroom so you leave your phone and grab a towel as you walk down the hall. The moment you arrive at the door Emily walks out, her long brown hair, now an extra shade darker from the water, is hanging freely past her shoulders. She has a small white towel wrapped around her body so tightly it hugged her slim figure and showed off her slight hips and the swell of her bottom in the back and B-cup breasts in the front.
She was still drying her hair and didn't see you standing there until she ran straight into you.
You quickly grab her hips to help steady her while she throws her arms around you for support. Thankfully she doesn't fall, and neither does her towel by virtue of being pressed between you two.
"Thanks Ron," she says and smiles up to you.
You let her go once she steadies herself and she walks down the hall again.
"You left me hot water, right?" you yell after her.
She looks back at you with an impish smile.
"Maybe..." she says in a singsong voice before scampering into her room.
You shake your head and enter the bathroom to shower. As you undress you notice the partial erection you have.
"Damn hormones..."
You don't know if it was from being so close to your towel clad sister or the rather interesting text conversation you had. Either way you jump in the shower and try to clear your head. Like your new friend said, it can wait until tomorrow.
Not a minute later a frustrated "Emily!" echoed through the house.
She didn't leave any hot water.