A Private Moment
Jimmy Junior woke up sweating, groaning, an aching throb between his legs.
It was happening again. He was dreaming about Tina. It was happening all too often.
He didn't like to admit it, but he wanted her. He wanted her like he'd never wanted anything else before, and it scared him. He tried to shove those feelings aside, but they always came raging back. Just like this.
He wanted to know what she would feel like. What would it be like to run his fingertips along her bare skin? Would she stay smooth and soft or would she prickle with goose bumps? How would the curves of her body fit against him as he lay on top of her? Would she caress his hair and back tenderly as they moved together, or would she bite and claw at him with blind passion?
He reached down and started stroking himself, groaning again. What would it be like to have her hand wrapped around him instead? Or her mouth? What would it feel like to slip inside her, to be cradled between her legs?
No one knew he thought about her like this. Not even Zeke. He was too embarrassed to ever say anything. He wasn't sure if it was something he could ever talk about with anyone. But the truth was, if Tina ever asked him, he'd be more than willing to go all the way with her.
He had thought up hundreds of scenarios for how it could happen. In his room. In hers. In either of their restaurants. In an empty classroom after school. On the nude beach at midnight. That was one of his favorites. How beautiful she would look dressed only in moonlight. How they could thrust to the rhythm of the crashing waves. How good the cool night breeze would feel against their hot, sweaty skin.
"Godddd..." he moaned out, starting to pump faster.
He needed her. He needed her wound tightly around him, clinging to him, squeezing him. He needed her hands in his hair and his face in her breasts and their mouths full of each other. He needed her shaking in his embrace, his name in her moan, their chests heaving together. He needed it, he needed it, he needed it.
He came then, his body going rigid before going completely lax, her name spilling from his lips. His eyes had been squeezed shut, but now they slowly drifted open. He blinked and stared at the ceiling, a small frown forming. It always so disappointing once it was over and he was left alone and wet in his bed.
As he cleaned himself up, he wondered if maybe he should say something to her. Ask her out again, like he used to sometimes do when he was younger and didn't care as much about what she thought of him. Now there was all this pressure. He felt nervous just thinking about it. Taking her out on a date and thinking these thoughts about her the whole time, would he even be able to function? What would she say if she found out?
He didn't know. But sometimes, in the middle of class, he would look over at her and she would already be looking back at him. And before she'd turn away, he'd catch her eye, and he could swear that she was thinking some of the same things about him. And sometimes that made him think it could be worth a shot.