Homemade School Skirt Fuck!

“Sure,” I muttered, trying not to squeak. Not in fear—but in something way more confusing. Until his hands went lower. I heard one of the guys from down the row yell, “Hey, save some romance for the honeymoon!”

Laughter broke out, and I wanted to melt into the tile. “You good?”

I nodded way too fast, like my head was trying to break a speed record. Wrestling seemed like the right move—tough and disciplined, a sport where I could carve out a place for myself. I continued soaping up my arm pits and chest and willing my boner to disappear. It all started at the beginning of the school year. Open, exposed, no curtains, no privacy. But deep down, I knew I’d crossed a line.