All I could do was moan and pant and beg for him to go harder and harder while I dug my fingernails into the mattress.But no one was here. So why was ... so flushed?I threw the blanket off and yanked my pants down to my ankles, trapping my legs. Then I started rubbing myself. Furious circles. I was so wet; the sound of my fingers and my lips filled my room. Slick and fast, my fingers strumming my clit, pushing my lips, slapping the juices silly, trying to contain this heat.Two fingers inside,. Soon my fingers learned to tend and grow those primitive feelings into sophisticated and fulfilling bedtime experiences. As my fingers explored, I suspected I might be nurturing blossoms that a boy's fingers might bring to even juicier fruition. If I ever knew the right boy, I'd share those feelings lavishly without reserve. I wondered if I'd be able to divine which boys felt the way I did. Would I instantly recognise my counterpart?Three weeks into college I did.Frank was everything I wanted.. More

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