In those days it’d be chilly in October.

I sat there, naked, with my hand on my dick and my boxers at my feet, and I thought of her. Not that one, no, neither the other.

The one who taught how to kiss.

I had forgotten that I had spent the night there once, on her waterbed (I think – all I remember was it was a big nice bed), on Homecoming (dance) night.

Other nights of our 2-week run I’d stay till late (12, late then) and she’d walk outside with me to my car and we’d chat for a little; it was sweet, really. Why’d I react so badly to her?

I remember going there one night after leaving Walgreens (my job at the time) and eating some pizza at her dining room table. I remember her telling me to loosen up when I kissed her. She would teach me different kissing techniques, and I would just imitate them, not getting into it.

My dick was probably hard, but I guess that’s why I ended up blowing her off, that she just didn’t intellectually stimulate. She was needy and controlling, and all my friends (who’d known her for years longer) called her the Devil. At a pep-rally that we went to at the first of our relationship (I WAS SO GIDDY WHEN FINDING OUT A CHEERLEADER WANTED ME) they literally yelled it at her from the stands for many minutes.

I laughed with them, at her. Heck, I wasn’t going to deny humor for boobs.

So, what I originally thought about while jacking off to her breasts (underneath her shirt) (with hard nipples): When I slept over, her mom slept in the bed with us, having hung out and talked all night. How cool is that.

Her mom hated me after I left. But she liked me for a little while.

What I just realized: I had the epitome of a high school relationship (I mean that in the T.V. or movie way of high school relationships) and I threw it away.

And I just wanted to say how pathetic it is that I, fat and older, masturbated and came to realize (double-meaning) that I’m a loser, for that moment of clarity at least.

Late nights don’t exist anymore. Just longer days.