I’ve spent the afternoon lamenting about my lack of fucking lately. Ben’s my roommate, even though we fuck now and then, he doesn’t count.

“Who?” I sit up, interested. I snap off the television and give him my full attention.

“Jones,” he answers with a smirk.

“Get the fuck out of here!” I shriek, throwing a pillow at him.

Jake Jones is the drummer for my friend’s band. Everyone else in the band goes for the “metal” look: skimpy goatees and long greasy hair. Jones possesses soft black curls and brilliant green eyes, baby-faced and adorable. He’s the one the groupies anxiously hang around the stage for, squealing when he takes off his sweaty t-shirt halfway through the set. He’s never treated me as anything more than one of the guys. Honestly, he’s so far out of my league looks-wise that I’ve never even fantasized about fucking him before.

“It’s true,” answers Ben, “He told me the other day at band practice. I fucking swear.”

“Me? He would fuck me?” I ask incredulously.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Ben says, and then so quietly I almost miss it, he adds “You have no idea who you are, do you?”

“Call him,” I dare Ben, still not believing him.

Within the hour, Jake Jones is knocking on my front door. My stomach flutters, but try to pretend I’m keeping my cool. Jake gives me a shy smile, but doesn’t say a word. I hear the back door creak as Ben makes a quiet exit. Jake and I stand there and look at each other with goofy grins, then he takes my hand and leads me upstairs. Nothing like cutting to the chase.

We undress ourselves and I lay back against a mound of pillows. We examine each other for a moment, giving unspoken mutual approval. Jake’s lean and wiry in that way only drummers are, he emanates an aura of wild energy. I pull him towards me, eager to get to the good stuff.

“Uh-uh,” Jake says, finally speaking, “I wanna use my hands on you first.”

“You’ll never get me off like that,” I answer, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

Jake gives me another shy smile and shakes his head.  I close my eyes and wait for him to jam his fingers into my cunt, but he doesn’t.

Carefully, Jake spreads my legs apart, running his fingertips along my thighs. Goosebumps raise in their wake. His hands are strong but delicate. A finger traces, teases, he searches the depths of me and I buck against his hands. I see the muscles working in his arms, his curls dampen with sweat. His fingers work a symphony inside me. I come hard, and the next time he makes me come even harder.

“Holy shit,” I breathe in a post-orgasm haze. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for drummers.

I can’t wait for the main event, I yank him towards me and guide his dick into me. We fuck, fast, slow, hard, in every combination we can imagine. We spend a long afternoon this way, fingers and mouths searching each other, hardly a word exchanged.

Finally, after countless hours, he glances at the clock. “Band practice,” he sighs, “Gotta jet.”

“Come again,” I say with a smile as he pulls on his jeans.

“Ok,” is all he says, and he leaves.

The next afternoon, I’m hanging out at Dave’s house, watching TV and drinking beer with Dave and Ben.

Dave’s sister, Myra walks in and drops her backpack on the floor. “It’s all over the high school that you fucked Jake Jones,” she says in a bratty voice tinged with anger. “He’s bragging that he nailed you.”

“What?” I exclaim, “Why would it be all over the high school?” I feel like I’m going to puke.

Dave and Ben look at each other and burst out laughing. “Jake’s still in high school,” Dave chortles, “He got held back last year.”

“You let me fuck someone in high school?” I turn to Ben, smacking him. “I thought he was our age?” My voice sounds shrill and foreign.

“Chill the fuck out, he’s legal, he’s eighteen,” Ben cackles.

“That’s still eight fucking years younger than me, asshole!” I shout as the fury and humiliation unleash.

Dave is doubled over with laughter, he nearly falls off the couch. Tears run down Ben’s face, he shakes from laughing. Myra simply glares at me with the white hot jealousy that only teenage girls in love posses.

My face burns, I feel ill and disgusted. I gather my things and leave, letting the door slam behind me. As I walk home, I want to ask myself if I’m really this desperate, but I don’t. I already know the answer.