I was mainly sheltered by the bush, and ducked my head just in time. “Anyone there”? The guy said. I stayed stock still as the guy turned round an... stood up. Now I could see his cock, hard-on reducing slightly. He looked mid twenties, defined chest with a treasure chest of dark curly hair from his midriff down to his thick cock, looking red and menacing. I dared not breathe. Now the other person stood up – another guy, maybe ten years younger, a long slim cock jutting out. I thought I could see. Desperately yearning-as only teenaged girls can yearn-for The Answer, searching for the thing that will make the boys look at them like they look at Carrie Newell, head cheerleader and all-around favorite girl.Then, if they're lucky, somewhere at the end of our miserable teen years, the penny drops, and the girls Get It. Carrie Newell wasn't born like that. Carrie Newell doesn't roll out of bed looking like God's gift to wet dreams. So, they sit at their mirrors and take stock of their good. Thank you Slut. Harder!' Her legs gave way at the final strike. As she sat on the cold, wet floor with the hot water pouring over her she saw a thin trickle of blood running into the drain. 'Five. Thank you Slut,' she gasped. Strong hands slipped under her arms and lifted her to her feet. For a few heartbeats he held her close so that she could hear his thumping heart. 'No-one could ever punish you as harshly as you punish yourself,' he murmured into her ear. He let go of her. 'Hold out your. "So you can bet I don't like none of your candy asses from the get go. Do us both a favor and quit now, so I don't have to run you off."After we did fifteen repetitions of the daily dozen, Bechtel formed us up for our morning run. I was pretty happy about him leading the run, because he looked as if he was about a hundred years old. I figured he'd be lucky to make it half way around the two mile track that circled the towers. I changed my tune when we started our second lap and he looked fresh.