She was one of those girls I should have dated. She gave me all the signs that she liked me. Of course, the too-hard laughs when I told a joke, the welcome hugs that last a half second more than expected. But her stare, that was something special.

She had straight strawberry blonde hair, a fair complexion peppered with perfect little freckles. Full, rosy lips offered a pleasant contrast. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were intense and inescapable.

I knew she liked me. And I always liked her too. It’s always been my fault that sparks like these don’t ever ignite. A self-saboteur and chronic over thinker, especially back when I was in high school.

It’s not like I was too nerdy. Sure, my best friends were books, but I played sports too, so I was in pretty good shape. I lifted 4 days a week, practiced baseball nearly every day. I think I even had a six pack at some point.

I’m other words, I was a decent looking, perfectly charismatic teen with tanned skin and a lot of muscles. You’d think I was a heartthrob.

But, the eyes can be deceiving, can’t they? They have a certain way of seducing us, but promising nothing. I always struggled with finding the confidence to take that “next step”. It’s not that I didn’t want to. I was, and still am, someone very into my sexuality.

Those days, I was constantly touching myself. And she was a frequent fantasy.

I wondered how she would want to fuck. Played out scenes of how we’d get started.

Maybe she would tutor me in math and I’d help her with history. And maybe during one of those sessions she’d wear something a little too revealing for school. Maybe her panties would flash from beneath her shorts. Surely, that would make my cock grow. I’d feel the tissue filling with blood, defying gravity. It would be forced announce itself from under my gym shorts. Loud without needing to say a damn word.

She would watch it bounce as I try to readjust. Futile, trying to hide it. We’d both know that. She’d pretend to be shocked, her eyes wide, intoxicating. Staring at the tented fabric, dampening her panties knowing that she’s the reason I got so hard.

I’d feel her hand brush against my waistband, tugging a little, scooting herself closer. Then, her fingers would coil around my shorts, she’d yank then down along with my boxers. My cock would be unleashed, veins round and bulging. Balls pounding, feeling ready to expel warm cum.

Then her perfectly contoured lips might wrap around my tip, her tongue gently stroking its under surface. I’d feel her throat open, sending my rod deep into her mouth. She would be a pro, of course. I’d feel her softly use her teeth every so often, as if to ensure I knew I was fucking her face. After a deep thrust, she’d gag and cough up a perfect strand of saliva, sending it to cascade down my cock and dribble onto her shirt.

And then. By that point in this fantasy. Id usually fire off a fully primed load into whatever thing I was masturbating with.

I’d be thrust back into reality.

Post-nut, catholic school clarity would flood my brain. I’d clean up, and try my best to move on with my day.

We got close to something once (Yes, in real life this time). It was a graduation party. I felt her eyes on me before I had even seen her. Somehow, my body knew. I felt a tingle wiggle down my spine, and fixed my eyes upon her gaze. It was flat, her thick lips barely pouting, waiting to be gripped by another pair. Her eyes not moving, she was reading me. And in a split second, the intensity gave way to a wide, friendly smile and a beckon for me to come say hi.

We talked, played drinking games, and eventually settled on the patio to have that classic “What will college be like?” talk. After comparing dorms and sports teams, we moved on to sex. There’s a certain comfort when horniness is a shared attribute, it’s like finding out you and your new friend from summer camp like the same comics.

With a steadily thumping heart, I told her “I’m ready to get fucked.” Laughed awkwardly and looked at the floor.

“Preach!” She shouted back under a giggle.

A long moment passed. She swung her eyes from her shoes to meet mine.

“It’s not like girls don’t like you, though. We all want a guy like you.”

“ A guy like me.” Jesus. If that was her saying she want to fuck, then she should just take me. I’d be whatever she needs.

I was desperate to feel her lips press against mine. To brush her ginger-tinged hair behind her ears and finally know how soft the skin of her neck was. I was closer to achieving this euphoria than I had ever been.

But I blew it.

“Yeah. We’ll see how it plays out. . . But I could use a refill. Want anything?”

I fucking ran away. What a coward.

She moved to the Pacific North West, an apt location for her little rebel nature to flourish. She was a girl who people were scared of, she could always shout down injustice from behind a well-defined femininity, like a pair of combat boots beneath a floral dress. I think it confused a lot of guys, but I loved a girl who was t afraid.

I stayed in our home town for school. I always followed her on social media, texted occasionally. So, I’d had years to build my confidence and I was ready for redemption. I wanted her to know I wasn’t scared anymore. I needed her to see that I had grown, that I could make the move and make it easy for her. But, it had been a while since we’d even seen eachother. Worse, I hadn’t texted her since her last birthday. And before then, who really knows? Maybe I had thrown a few likes on social media.

That’s why I was shocked when I received her text.

“You remember when you ruined your best chance with me? Lol”

This girl’s still not afraid of anything. Perfect. …

End of Part 1