Zach
The constant look-but-don’t-touch I had with Poppy was f*****g t*****e.
I’d spent each night vowing to think of her as a friend and as a student, and I’d spent each morning hard as a tire iron when I awoke after yet another erotic dream about her.
Last night’s fantasy was particularly vivid—Poppy writhed in my bed while I pleasured her with my mouth, my fingers, my c**k. The sound of her moaning my name, the sight of her breathless and panting for me. It had seemed so real. Real enough that I woke with a sense of lingering guilt.
At this rate, I was going to have the strongest arm in all of Connecticut without even having to leave my bed to hit the gym. After I made a mental note to switch to lefty if I was afflicted again later that night, my pocket vibrated. I stopped short, di
