"Sure I'm frustrated. But I'm an 18-year-old virgin. Sexual frustration is part of the job description. But I won't die from it, and I like being here. You're a fun roommate, even if we do spend too much time sharing our feelings."
Ellen was about to call him a brat again when they heard a loud squeal coming from the next room. "Honestly," Ellen said, "I can live without hearing Gail's cries of ecstasy. So tell me, Greg, how far have you gone with a girl?"
"You share first this time," he said. "And no 'first base second base' euphemisms, because I'm not even clear what that all means. Hey, you brought up the subject."
"Fine. I had two boyfriends last year. The first one we mostly just kissed a lot. But I mean GOOD kisses. Lots of tongue, but not wet and sloppy. I let him touch my breasts while we were kissing, but only over my shirt. The second guy, I let him put his hand under my skirt - I tried to always wear a skirt for him -- and he touched me under my shirt, over my bra. When I wasn't wearing a bra, though, I wouldn't let him inside my shirt. Once we ended up on my parents' bed, in our underwear, dry-humping until he came. He tried very hard to talk me out of my bra that day, but I wasn't having any part of it. I guess that's what finally broke us up: he wanted more booby than I was willing to give up. And that takes us to tonight, when I'm lying here in my undies and a t-shirt sharing my feelings with some strange guy in the next bed. So what's YOUR story, stud?"
"I had the same girlfriend my whole senior year. On nice days, there was this field we'd go to, used to be part of somebody's farm, and we'd make out. I mean kissing, touching, rolling around in the grass... I never gave up hope we'd go a lot further, carried a condom in my pocket every time we went out there, just in case... The closest we got, one day we were kissing and it was getting kid of hot -- we were, I mean -- and I started easing her shirt higher and higher. Finally she lifted her arms and let me take it off her. No bra. I thought this was the greatest sight of my life. I kissed them, I sucked on her nipples, I'm sure I had no idea what I was doing, but neither of us cared. I'm sure she knew I wanted to fuck her right there, and I think she was worried she might say yes, so instead she reached up the leg of my shorts, grabbed my cock, and started pumping it."
"She didn't take it out?" Ellen asked in a whisper.
"No. I guess she figured what she couldn't see couldn't hurt her. But I didn't care. I mean, her shirt was off and she was jerking me off." In the dark room, Ellen couldn't tell that Greg had his hand in his boxers and as gently stroking his cock as he told the story. She probably wouldn't have noticed anyway, since she hand was inside her own panties and she was gently rubbing her clit.
"Did you come?"
"Oh yeah," he said, wishing he could come right now. Wishing he had Ellen's hand inside his boxers, stroking him. "I came a lot."
"Hmm," Ellen said, imagining her hand coated with Greg's cum. They were both so pathetic: she knew he had to be thinking about the same thing, but neither of them and the guts to make the first move. "And after that?"
