An Itch to be Scratched

One month anniversaries are supposed to be special when you’re sixteen, right? That is, unless you are a high school junior who’s stuck taking the ACTs all morning, along with your boyfriend who’s been separated alphabetically into a different room. Oh, not to mention that he’s also sick and high on cold medicine. Despite my elaborate plans for a dinner date, four hours of hell and a lack of test preparation were already setting me in the absolute best mood for the rest of the day–not.

By the time we got out, I think we both knew that sexual release was absolutely required. As much as I wanted to show affection (it was our one month, after all, that’s like years in high school relationships), he made a point to run to his car so that no one from his high school would catch us together. Dating a religious guy in the closet always had its perks.

After stopping at a Chinese supermarket to pick up some snacks for an impromptu picnic, we made our way to a park. Laying down on a blanket, it immediately led to spooning and fondling. While I enjoy exhibitionism as much as the next guy, I was not down to get hot and heavy with children’s soccer games fifty yards away from us. We ended up dragging the blanket behind a football field goal with our only threat being middle school jocks.

“Orgy?” my boyfriend jokingly asked me.

I rolled my eyes, and I told him that I’d walk home if he touched me. That’s how most of our sexual activities began; I loved edging him on. In broad daylight, I found myself kissing up and down his entire body. Forgetting how sick he was, I even made out with him for quite a bit (which I ended up getting sick for in the end).

Suddenly, he took my hand and told me that he wanted to go for a walk in the woods. That was usually code for sex. I ran into the trees alone first, only to hear him panting after me. He caught me at one tree after I slipped on a root, and he pushed my arms above my head.

“I got you,” he whispered into my ear.

He pushed my head down to his crotch and whipped out his dick. It was hard, and he slapped the precum across my face. As much as a wild sex scene like those in porn would usually turn me on, I hated to admit that I was completely flaccid. Not only was New Jersey known to always be humid, but the amount of mosquitoes biting me almost made me tell him to take care of his tool himself. Still, I found a way to make him finish quickly, and I thought that the ordeal was over with.

I was then flipped to where he was standing, and he took my original spot. It was a challenge trying to get me erect, one that included teeth and bugs attacking my ass instead of my actual boyfriend. I wasn’t in the mood any longer, and it seemed like the one month festivities were really going downhill.

I knew that getting a blowjob would never get me to cum; I was always too insecure about my body to ever feel comfortable enough to ejaculate in front of someone. Embarrassingly, I made my boyfriend wait twenty minutes on his knees just so I could finish myself off in his mouth. He always liked swallowing. Before I pulled my pants up, I managed to count the mosquito bites on my ass. There were twelve big ones in total.

“Oh shit,” I heard my partner say.

I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that we had been standing in poison ivy the entire time. Luckily for me, I wore jeans that day. He simply had to deal with the consequences through dinner and a lack of actual sex later that night.

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