Hello. May I Please Speak to Dick?
Cum and Conversations
When I kissed him the first time he tasted like frozen pizza, but when it’s burnt. And cigarettes. I can’t explain it any better than that, but I can still remember it perfectly.
He eased me down onto the bottom part of his bunk bed and awkwardly shoved an eager knee between my legs.
At the time, I was barely seventeen and still had hopes of waiting for marriage before I had sex. I broke up with him two months later, because his dry humping was too fast for me.
Immediately after the breakup curiosity got the best of me, and I had sex with a lot of people. Too many people.
I ended up giving him a second shot because the dude was hilarious, extremely tall, and smarter than anyone I had ever known. I felt a little guilty for breaking up with him and then sleeping with half the town.
One year later, we made just enough money at our starter jobs to afford sleazy hotel rooms to fuck in, rather than the quiet sex we attempted on the bunk beds we shared with our siblings.
There were no cell phones or trackers, so I could tell my mom I was headed to my friend’s house for the weekend, and she would wave me away and tell me to have fun.
