“Sure, water would be cool.” “Okay,” she smiled and spun to enter the house. I knew it. She had a firm, athletic ass that looked to-die-for ...n that tight bikini. My bulge was growing, I would have to bail soon. Luckily, the few minutes she was gone gave my erection time to subside. She returned with the water and we chatted for a while, catching up a bit. She was flirtatious, openly, reaching to touch my arms each time I made a joke. “So you’ll be a freshman this year?” I asked. “Yes sir,. Jem then looked at me. "My exam! I have to go!" And then she was up on her feet grabbing her clothes. "Jem I-shit I think I have sweatpants." We were both embarrassed to admit that her cock was still pointed directly at me, no matter where I moved. Honestly it spooked me. I rushed to get her some sweatpants. They were baggy on me but were capri's to her. "Ok! Ok!" she growled, frustrated. She moved to grab the rest of her things with her cock still bulging through. I shouted after her, "Good. The pterodactyl had seen us and was barreling toward us at maximum speed, and we were barreling toward it at maximum speed. That was a combined speed of close to 400 MPH, so we figured that this was a female pterodactyl. We figured that she was defending her territory and possibly even defending her nest. In any case, this was a big one and needed to be killed for our safety.We closed quickly and Jane slowed down a bit at my suggestion. The ability to put on a burst of added speed could come in. I spent the last two weeks of this summer slowly packing up my things, listening to Dashboard Confessional, and writing shitty poetry. This is what I meant when I was talking about influences in writing and why people shouldn’t let themselves be influenced. Don’t get me wrong, my 16-year-old self loves Dashboard Confessional for the angsty honesty of heartbroken lyrics and vocals, but the 40-year-old woman in me is asking ‘aren’t there more pressing issues in the world than some whiny asshole.