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Teen Spirit
Date: 8/18/2015, Categories: First Time, Author: BradleyStoke, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories
Chris’ first time didn’t happen until he was nineteen years old. Indeed, until that time he’d never even kissed a girl, though there’d been the odd time when he fancied he’d been close. But nothing he could ever be sure about. He was always very awkward with girls. In fact, he was awkward with everyone. He only had a couple of friends, Pete and Stu, who sometimes came to see him, or he would visit their homes. On these occasions, they would crank up the stereo, put on their Scorpions, Metallica or Nirvana CDs, and mime wildly in front of the mirrors pretending to be a Kurt Cobain reduced to playing air guitar. Inevitably, one of their mums or, in Stu’s and Pete’s cases, one of their dads, would rap on the door and yell at them to turn the volume down. People were trying to watch TV. Chris had had more friends, like Baz and Martin, at one time, but they’d done rather better at their final GCE exams and had gone on to university. Chris envied them when they met up at Christmas. They were now so much older and wiser than him and his mates. And they were having a great time at uni, staying up late, drinking in the student bar, smoking dope, and, in Martin’s case, hanging around with a girlfriend. Fuck! It wasn’t fair! All he had to look forward to, like Stu and Pete, were the re-sits of the exams in which they’d just not done well enough to get into a polytechnic or university. Bloody Maths! Bloody General Science! And why, oh why, had he opted to do Geography? If only you ... didn’t have to go through all this shit! Most evenings, of course, Chris stayed at home. And most of that time in his bedroom, forever putting off doing his homework, leafing through imported American comic books whilst a selection of Heavy Metal CDs crashed, wailed and moaned in the background. His walls were splattered with posters of rock stars and a couple of pictures of bosomy girls he’d scissored out of GQ or FHM, such grown-up magazines, too frightened to blu-tac the pictures he really wanted up there above the TV or crappy 80386 PC his mum had bought him. Christ! What he wouldn’t do to have one of those Pentiums he’d read about? They had over 100 MB of hard disk, 33 MHz of processing power and an astronomical 8 MB of RAM! If he’d had that, then those pictures he got on the floppy disk he’d copied off Stu would load up really quickly. And it was these pictures, or ones a lot like them, Chris really wanted on his wall. So much harder core than the ones in the porn mags he’d had handed down from Gary at the sixth form college. Even though the girls in Penthouse and Razzle were a lot better looking. And, it was often these pictures he’d masturbate to the most furiously, rather than the ones on the floppy disks of women being fucked and women fucking each other. If only he could put their pictures on the wall instead of the ones of Ritchie Blackmore and the equally decrepit Ozzy Osbourne. Every evening he found time to lie on his bed, long hair splayed over his pillow, one of ...