If I only had the looks

I'm still infatuated with the idea of being a Sally to someone's Jack. I  certainly feel like Sally, a crazy ass collage of  scraps from anywhere,everywhere, a ragdoll to kick around...

The closest I've ever gotten to a boy was when I  slammed Jules Doherty into the ground during a football game at his house when I was 13. But even that wasn't my idea. He had the ball, and I ran straight for him, and SLAM!
I was on top of Jules. He caught his breath and then scanned my baby-curvy body on top of his baby-muscular one. I tried to get off-but Jules had a different idea. He pulled me down HARD and kissed me rather indelicately, smashing me against him. I punched him in the face and ran all the way back home, wiping his disgusting spit from my face.

Thats the last "intimate contact" I can remember...


The End

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