On that dark and chilly fall morning, my wetness was my naughty secret, a reminder of my marathon orgasm session with my boyfriend and our mad-dash fucking session before leaving to catch the last bus out. It'd been risky. I'd just barely pulled my jeans on when my parents came upstairs to help me with my bags. But I loved risky sex. Going down on him in a movie theatre. Sexting in the middle of class. It made my boyfriend nervous, but I couldn't help myself. He was my high school sweetheart—a really nice guy—and I really tried to be a nice girl. But it took effort. As the nearly empty bus rumbled out of town, I could still feel my boyfriend's hands on me. I tried to ignore the buzz of arousal, but my mind kept replaying pictures in my head. Sex on the floor. Sex over the bathroom counter. Sex with me on top. Sex fully clothed, my jeans barely pulled down. The more the memories flickered in my mind the more intense the fluttering between my legs. I wanted to come again. Needed to. Biting my lower lip, I looked around me.
