It’s not like I can just sit her down and tell her all of this, either. It wouldn’t make any difference now.
Stepping into the shower doesn’t feel as cathartic as usual, my mind still spinning despite my resolution to turn it off. I focus intently on the feeling of water beating down on my shoulders, the humid air, the minty smell of my three-in-one as I start to scrub sweat and dirt off my skin.
It doesn’t smell as good as Jenny’s shampoo did. It won’t make my hair as soft and silky as hers was under my fingers.
I squirt out another dollop and lather it in my hair, vindictively ignoring that train of thought. Jenny’s made it quite clear that she’s got plenty of issues with me, and I’ve got enough going on without adding that powder keg to the mix.
I don’t have to understand what’s going on in her to understand that I’m not wanted.
Maybe she wanted me to stick around at some point, but not anymore. I made my choices, I made my mistakes, and it’s obvious that I’ll continue to pay for them. Any chance of having her was blown long ago, and I’m not stupid enough to think that there’s any way to win her back, even just for a fling.
I’d never be satisfied with so little. I always wanted more than she’d give me.
It’s best to just give up on the whole thing and stay away from her entirely.
I scrub my hands through my hair, tugging harder than I should in frustration. Soap runs down my face, but I’m tempted to leave my eyes open and deal with the sting of it anyway. Anything would be better than the images of Jenny that flash across my mind every time I blink.
“God fuckingdamnit!”
I don’t understand why I’m so hung up on this, onher.
I gave up on her once, let her go so she could chase her own dreams and not have to worry about being held back by me. I gave up on my football career, too, when my ACL refused to heal properly. I’ve given up on everything that’s ever really mattered to me at one point or another, and I don’t know why I can’t get her out of my head.
My plan was to be friendly. That’s it. Not to antagonize her, not to follow her around begging for scraps of attention.Certainlynot to flirt with her, much less make a move like I did tonight. I wanted to leave the past behind, start over.
But the way she looks at me, like she’s lost somewhere between imagination and memory, it breaks my resolve every time.
Being so close to her in the barn may as well have been torture. Just seeing her around is enough to send my blood rushing south these days. I almost lost control entirely when I felt her pinned between me and the wall. Every last bit of me wanted nothing more than her lips on mine, her body in my hands.
My cock twitches against my thigh, an entirely unhelpful suggestion in my opinion, but one I know I’ll cave into eventually.
Part of me doesn’t want to. I’m thrumming with energy, and Jenny’s invading my thoughts, and it would be aneasyway to deal with how I feel right now. But I know from experience that distracting myself with sex only makes me feel worse in the long run.
I don’t fight the urge for long, though. My cock is growing harder against my leg without my permission. It’s not going to go down on its own, not with how little control I have over my thoughts right now. I may as well take care of it. I won’t think about Jenny. It’ll be as clinical as masturbation can be.
But as soon as I start, the smell of her shampoo flashes in my memory. I wrap my hand around my cock, and my entire body shakes. The first touch of skin on skin sears through me like a fucking bullet to the gut, desire ripping my breath from my lungs.
It’s not quite right—my hand is too big, too callused. Jenny’s fingers are slim and delicate. Her nails are never painted, but they are always well taken care of.
I’d sell my fucking soul to feel her hand on my cock right now.
The closest I can get is closing my eyes, tipping my head back against the wall of the cramped shower stall, and letting my imagination run wild. It’s all too easy to conjure up an image of her in my mind, pretty brown eyes locked on mine as a smirk twists her perfect pink lips. She’d tease me ruthlessly if she ever knew how close I already am, nothing but my fucking hand and a half-formed fantasy, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in my mind.
I’ll probably be ashamed of myself later, but all I can do is bite my lip to muffle what I refuse to admit is a whimper.
I twist my palm around the head of my cock, seeking out every spot that makes my head spin with pleasure. It’s only ever like this when I think about Jenny, although I’d never admit thatout loud, either. My body never reacts like this to anything else my imagination — or the internet — can conjure up, pleasure a knife’s blade up my spine.
Hell, most of the people I’ve fucked didn’t make me cum as fast as a single thought about Jenny can.
No one’s ever made me feel like she does, no matter what the context.
I don’t want to think about that now, though, not when my thighs are shaking and I can still recall the exact way her pupils pinned when I slid my knee between her legs. If she hadn’t pushed me away, I’d have dragged her hips forward, made her grind against me until she was whining and begging for it. Would’ve dug my teeth into her throat and felt every moan before the sounds reached my ears, made hermine.
My cock throbs in my hand at the thought, at the barest hint of tea I tasted on her lips before she shoved me back.
I can almost still taste it on my lips, bitter and oversteeped, just how she always liked it.
Fuck,fuck.
