Opening my eyes, I wondered if today was the day I’d commit suicide.

Another day of being harassed, bullied, derided, and shamed at high school. Another day of having girls snicker at me, boys knock my books out of my hands, or punch me in the stomach as they walked by.

Top of my senior class in everything, teacher’s pet, smart-as-a-whip, college-bound – but couldn’t get a date to save my life.

I was the dork, the doofus, the toad, the jerk-off. Mr. Fuck-Up.

Ashamed of the zits dotting my face. Of how awkward I was around girls, and tongue-tied, and embarrassed to the point of stammering. I hated it, I hated it!

I hated me.

As for Prom? Forget it.

And horny, too, so much so that many mornings I woke up with a damp spot on my mattress from the wet dreams. Or with my prick sore from pounding it.

Solo sex. You don’t have to walk home in the dark, but it reminds you how much of a failure you really are.

Last night’s dream was particularly cruel.

I dreamt that Biata, the gorgeous exchange student from Brazil, had cornered me in the outdoor garden, and talked to me for hours. I kept looking at her brilliant blue eyes, her tawny skin, her blessed, bee-stung lips, listening to her lilting voice, her tinkling laughter, and wondering what the hell she saw in me.

I finally worked up the nerve to ask her, even though I was desperately afraid she’d remember who I was.

“Why do I want to talk to you?” she sounded puzzled. “Because you’re smart. You’re kind, you’re considerate, you treat girls with respect. You’re athletic, you’re good looking – although you could use some help picking out clothes, and a better haircut.” She giggled, then turned serious again.

“Because you’re not a jerk, Michael, unlike so many of the other guys around here.

“Momma told me to look past the boy to the man he would become. And you look pretty good to me.”

Then she walked me home. She kissed me. Made her way into my bed. Made unbelievable love to me, making me feel…like a man.

Yet, all I had was now another wet spot on my mattress.

So, was today the day I was finally going to commit suicide, I asked myself?

“Hey,” I heard a voice say. A hand, with painted nails, touched my shoulder. I jerked my head up and around.

“Wanna fuck?” Biata said.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright, J.L. Gainsborough, March 2021.
All rights reserved. May not be copied in any form, in any medium, without the express, written consent of the author.

To link to this sex story from your site – please use the following code:

<a href=”https://www.lushstories.com/stories/flash-erotica/-wet-dream-.aspx”> Wet Dream </a>





Source link

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here