Michael was a fourteen-year-old boy. Like all fourteen year old boys he was an annoying brat, that should have been locked away in a cellar somewhere and given a porno mag and a couple of years in which to mature. Unfortunately, the RSPCC object to such forms of raising children, and as such his parents had no choice but to let the boy loose to annoy the world at large. The worst thing of course, about fourteen year old boys, is their ability to make slightly older boys be reminded of what complete and total twats they used to be. Michael would have taken great pride in this ability, had he been aware of it, but of course, being a fourteen year old boy he was only aware of three things. Football, food and masturbation. Some people think boys this age should be better at such activities than even Jareth, given their natural wanker-ishness, however, such people are wrong. Of course, some boys are having sex at the age of twelve and younger, but Michael was not one of these boys. The only chance you stand as a fourteen-year-old boy is finding a girl who doesn't realise what a complete and total twat you are. Luckily, at this age the girls of your affections tend to be over-ran by hormones, and hormones can over-ride such things as common sense, and the smell of boys only just discovering deodorant. When hormones don't quite do the trick one tends to top it up with cider. Michael had yet to find a girl whose hormones were bouncing in his direction, and he was cursed with the plague of many great people - a conscience. No getting girls drunk and on the sofa for this boy, nosireebob. No, he'd wait until he found someone who genuinely cared for him and would sleep with him because they wanted to, not because they were too intoxicated to stand up.
Until that day he would just stick to cheap porn videos and compulsive masturbation, waiting patiently for the day someone would invent the internet so he could pretend to be a lesbian, and masturbate while talking to other men pretending to be lesbians in lesbian chat rooms.
It was Sarah's fifteenth birthday. She'd managed to convince her dad and step-mum to spend the night elsewhere. It had been a lot easier than she'd expected. She mentioned the idea, and they jumped straight to it, muttering something about motels, and something about not having to worry about keeping the noise down anymore. They took all the whipped cream. Sarah had wanted to ask them to leave some whipped cream behind because, well, she happened to like whipped cream, but there's an unspoken rule among teenagers that you don't ask your parents to leave home for the night and then ask them to leave the whipped cream. That kind of thing can give the wrong impression.
Sarah was depressed. Of course boys, without exception, were thoroughly stupid creatures, who couldn't be trusted. If they thought they could get a blowjob by saying they love you, they will. If they think you'll sleep with them if they act like nice people when you're around, they will. Objectively thinking, one could say that this is actually thoroughly clever behaviour, but Sarah was in no mood for objective thinking, and boys were stupid.
But she still wanted one. Maybe not one to keep, but she definitely wanted some sex. Of course, this was a horribly slutty thing to feel, right? Sex was supposed to be a consummation of love, not some physical act done like animals for gratification... right? Sure, boys were stupid creatures only interested in one thing, but she was pretty interested in that thing herself, so where was the harm? She felt confused, and thought maybe a shower might help, but the idea of the paranoia kicked in, and she had no intent of facing it right now.
She was to have a party that night. Birthdays are good excuses for parties. There would be boys there.
In the privacy of his own room Unka wiped his finger inside his pocket, and retrieved a foreign substance. He licked it tentatively. He gave it a moment's consideration.
The party went the way parties of this nature always went. Everyone get very drunk. A few of the guys got very naked. Asking the kind of girl who attends these parties "Have you ever been propositioned by a naked boy incapable of standing?" would be the equivalent of asking the sun: "Hey, are you a star?" None of the girls would get naked of course, they were altogether a much too intelligent creature for that, but when pressed those that were hungry for the attention would expose their breasts to the inferior male creatures. The thought process went something like this:
Female: Let's show these dim-witted creatures the treasures they shall never partake in.
Male: Woah, tits!
Sarah was drunker than most. She had resolved that she was going to satisfy the unnatural urge for sex, and in order to be willing to fulfil that urge with one of the unwashed miscreants at this party she guessed quite correctly she'd need to be rather drunk. She scanned the room for a likely candidate. She immediately ruled out the boys that had got naked. It's a remarkable curio that boys this age seem to genuinely believe the sight of their over-weight under-endowed bodies will reduce the female population to a quivering frenzy of desire, when in actual fact they're just crossing themselves off every girl's "to do" list. She ruled out the stoners in the corner on the ground that if they did dope they were likely to do heroin, and if they did heroin they were likely to have diseases. This was of course gross over-generalisation, but Sarah, being a fifteen-year old girl always over-generalised. It's a well-known fact that all fifteen-year old girls over-generalise at every given opportunity.
Then she saw Michael. His hair was less greasy than most, and it was slightly overgrown. The slight over-growth in itself hardly made her ache with desire, but it certainly made him stand out from the crowd which consisted of type A: those that follow fashion, and type B: what's a hairdresser's? Michael was a definite possibility. Sarah knew he was a virgin himself, and as such she wouldn't feel like a conquest. His teeth were, well, one couldn't be so pushed as to say "clean", but certainly less yellow than the rest of the boys. Sarah realised she'd been staring at him for some time now, and he was starting to look nervous. She didn't feel ready. Of course she didn't, she barely knew the guy, let alone trusted him enough to share that first sexual encounter with him. There were two viable options. One: Get very, very drunk, or two: back down and wait until you find the love of your life, and then give yourself to him, and know it's all the more special that you've waited so long and you love each other more than life itself.
She tossed a coin.
TO BE CONTINUED...
I hope that I can say the things I wish I'd said.