She sat on the couch. Waiting.
Waiting for him.
Yearning for his attention; desperate for his touch.
And he had begged. Every waking moment when his family were out, he implored his teenage girlfriend.
His puppy-dog eyes besieged her.
His tales of lustful sluttery were designed to inflame her passions and he hoped his constant reminders of the sexual proclivities of their friends would make her yield to his desperate pleas.
And they were desperate.
He was desperate.
The strip poker night so he could see her bare crotch; he lost, shivering naked in front of the four-bar fire as she triumphantly slapped another full house onto the carpet.
But Tara was eager for sex too; she’d not been this celibate for years but she loved to tease; innocently flirting with his lust as his cock moaned angrily in his tight underwear.
Teasing and denial. He’d had the teasing, and the denial, for five long months. So eager to break his duck, lose his virginity and be with a girl. For the first time.
For the very first time.
So eager to feel the soft, luscious softness of a woman’s insides grip his cock and stroke him towards orgasm.
So desperate to feel the warmth of another pressed against his body as they kiss and pant, smiling and squealing as lust overtakes them both hurtling towards grunting climaxes.
But he was tinkering with his car and Tara was waiting.
Waiting for him to realise.
Waiting for him to want her.