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“Your parents got divorced?”“No, not really, but they don’t live together anymore. Dad bought us a home back here, and promised he would visit, but I don’t think they got a divorce,” she answered sadly.“I am really sorry, Kelly. If you need to talk about it, I’m here.”She gave me a sad smile at that. “Still putting tourniquets on little girls, huh, Grim.”I shrugged. “I just like to hear the ambulance sirens and see the flashing lights.”That got her to laughing again, and we promised to talk some more.Tilly didn’t get over her mad that day, and though she was starting to thaw out by lunch, she saw me talking to Kelly again and that simply cemented it for her. I got my face slapped and she stalked off. Later that day she accepted a ride home from Candy Pants. He just sneered at me and spun his tires, kicking up some gravel as they left the parking lot.I commented on that to Kelly the next day at lunch. “Listen, do yourself a favor and stay away from Randy Holden.”“You and he still. I would quickly change out—getting into my jeans and tank. Throwing on a pair of kicks, with no socks. Skipping the shower, as discretely as I could—didn't want the other guys to notice, or catch on. Then jet home as quickly as I could. It was like a race going down the stairs to the basement, pulling my kicks off, and huffing on them like a d**ggy huffing glue. I would take deep whiffs, inhaling my own foot funk. It got better throughout the year as the sneaks got more and more dirty, and thus more and more stink. My jeans would come off quickly—then flat on my back with dick in hand. Pulling hard on it's massive 9”, well---massive for a freshman, rite ? Pulling with my right fist, with my left arm raised up to the back of my head, I would now start huffing on my hairy pits. Still wet from practice, and sometimes still dripping sweat down my rib cage, I would tug hard on my engorged dick. It usually didn't take long---like I said, all that funk turned me into an a****l. Sometimes I.
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