Final Draft:

The Autobiography

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The tennis season was finally coming to a close.


I stumbled off the court after my last match, peeling off my sweat-drenched shirt, making my way over to my bag. Amber was sitting next to it, watching me walk towards her, a wide smile spreading across her face.
“Good job.”
“Thanks.” I panted, grabbing my water, dropping my shirt onto her lap.
“Ugh, I don’t love you that much.” She threw the sweaty rag onto the table, and then turning back to me, she patted my bared stomach.

“Looking good.”
I’d gotten stronger, more muscular, in the past few weeks. I allowed a thin smile. “Yeah? Show me yours.”
She chuckled. “Maybe later.”
I grabbed my other set of clothes and some soap from my bag.
“We’ll head out after I change. Hang tight.”

I let the boiling water cascade down my body, cleansing the sweat and grime of the day. It didn’t really make me feel any cleaner though.
I didn’t waste any time. I washed my weary body, and exited the shower, meeting back up with Amber, and then back to my car.
“You wanna take a nap before the movie? We still have plenty of time.”
“Sounds great.” I nodded, heading out from the city courts, towards my house.

She chuckled as I collapsed, exhausted, onto my bed and climbed into my arms as I held them out to her.
Her body was always cold, like mine. I soon found myself shivering, so I climbed under the covers, grinning mischievously as I barred her access into my arms again, snuggling under the blanket. She laughed and climbed in with me, and we rolled into a tangled heap of limbs and bedcovers, kissing affectionately.

Her hands snaked down between us and I jumped in surprise as she gripped my cock through my shorts.
“Hmmm…”
I held her arms, and spun her around on the bed so that we were back to spooning. She whined.
“Sorry, babe. I’m not really in the mood.”

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The school year was finally coming to a close.


As I walked out to the school parking lot, I found Emily waiting for me at my car.
“This is a surprise.” I came up to her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and helping myself to a kiss. “Did you leave class early?”
She chuckled. “Count yourself lucky, Ben.”
“I do.”

We climbed into the car and I drove her home. I’d planned to only drop her off but she’d gotten some new pet. We came into her house. Into her room. Onto her bed.

She’d gotten my shirt off before I’d realized it, and her hands were soft as they stroked my muscled arms, chest, and defined stomach before continuing downwards. I smiled down at her as she unbuttoned my jeans, sliding her fingers curiously inside, her eyes staring up innocently, unfolding my thick cock from my pants, and stroking it tenderly.
I could tell she’d done this before.
My own hands were preoccupied with sliding up her t-shirt to cup her breasts, kneading them and shaping them as I pleased.

Emily frowned up at me. “Not good enough, eh?” I looked down confused. I’d been thinking about something else….
I saw her full lips kissing my cockhead; but I wasn’t even hard.

I heard the rumble of her garage door, signaling the arrival of her parents.
“Shit.”
I immediately climbed off her, stuffed my dick back into my pants, recovered my shirt, kissed her goodbye, and headed out.

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The summer was finally coming to a close.

“Shelli.” My hands held her firmly in place by her shoulders. “This isn’t gonna work out.”

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—The part was finally over.
“Jessica. I need some time away from this relationship.”

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—The song was finally ending.
“I don’t feel the same way about you, Ashley.”

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She was absolutely beautiful, Danielle. Her full red lips only inches from mine as I hovered over her, my sweaty body thrusting jarringly into hers, but I couldn’t seem to open my eyes to drink it in.
I knew that she was sweating also. Her eyes had always reminded me of the sky crashing down into the ocean: immense, and blue, and impossibly beautiful. I knew that her mouth was caught slightly open as if trying to form words, but all that came out were guttural moans as I slid my dick in and out of her; fucking her slowly, leisurely…

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I was kind of hopeless when she left. I didn’t have anything else to do.
I looked over from my bed to my desk, which, usually stacked with papers and drafts and half-drunk bottles of Gatorade, was clean and organized. I didn’t write that much anymore.

I didn’t write at all anymore.
It had lost its appeal.

Everything had lost its appeal.


I sighed, rolling over and picking up my phone.
5 missed messages.
I read them all, but didn’t reply to any.
One was my mom, asking where I was.