"Johnny, I love you!" Lynda gasped as she came.
"I've loved you since sixth grade, Lynda." His most intense orgasm ever was triggered by the way her dripping cunt felt as it grabbed his cock and squeezed in ripples of pressure and release from the base to the head. Or as he imagined it would feel.
He cleaned his hand and penis with a tissue and relaxed. "I love you, Lynda," he said to the composite of her head on a nude body and powered down his computer. He'd spent months looking for a body double properly posed for his head shot of her. The joining was perfect. Computer dweebs could match seamlessly.
He fell into bed and again read the Christmas headline: "Hero Senior Risks Icy Death to Save Classmate." He placed the newspaper and his glasses on the nightstand and turned off the light. "Tomorrow," he whispered.
He'd silently worshipped Lynda from afar. She was popular, he was a dweeb. She ice skated with the in-crowd, he by himself. When she ignored the warning signs and broke through the ice, the jocks argued what to do. He plunged in. He was careful with his hands when bringing her to the surface. Every jock removing her from hole copped feels. They argued over who would give her mouth-to-mouth and ignored him still in the icy water.
Teachers and students congratulated him. Some jocks said, "Good work, hero."
And there she was. She dismissed her entourage and quietly thanked him for saving her.
Johnny blushed. "It was nothing. Would--you like to--go to a movie-- or something -- sometime?"
Lynda smiled sweetly, removed his glasses, and leaned forward until her soft lips brushed his ear. She pressed her thumbs against his lenses and said, "I don't date dweebs."
© Russell Hoisington 2003