try to get rid of the tent

‘John, dude, for all you know she could be dying because of this stuff how can you be thinking of doing her at a time like this.’ He pondered to himself. He answered himself as well, Don’t be stupid she looks perfect. Porn-stars would kill to look that naturally beautiful. Hell, half the woman on the planet would kill to look that good. It is only natural. Now go… this part of his brain seemed to follow into chorus of Fuck fuck fuck applied to a number of different tunes. He vigorously shook his head to regain his senses. He headed to the living room. His hard-on hard pressed against His jeans. The sensation is quite painful. With the girls in the bathroom, his options were limited. John wondered if Rachel’s parents might have a private bathroom. Her dad might even have a mag or something that help out. What worried him was if Karen or Rachel should find you with your pants down. It was bad enough, you ogling the super titty Rachel Summer. He didn’t want to imagine what they must be thinking of him right now.

‘SON OF A BITCH! This hurts.’ This had to be the biggest boner John had ever had in the whole of his life. On top of everything, John instincts were still singing the fuck-fuck song. He glanced at the old oak grandfather clock swaying by the hearth it is 6:30am. He realized he would have to go ahead and make a decision, now. John had to make it to school in an hour. There was nothing for it; he had to at least let some pressure off. He headed for Rachel’s parent’s bedroom, opening his fly and releasing that raging red rod.

John was relieved to find that they did have another bathroom near the master bedroom. He searched their room for some kind of pornographic material. It was in this way John learned more about the Summers than he ever wanted to know. Mr. Summer was into the strangest crap, his magazine read with titles like “500lb Thunder Sex!” and “Grinding Grannies.” And Rachel’s mom seemed to be a closeted (or perhaps not so closeted lesbian) in her night stand you found a couple of copies of “Luscious Licking Lipstick Lesbians.” Plus, a catelog with an ad for the Binder 3000 highlighted. He stole the mother's mags, and head into the bathroom. His aching wacky one eyed wonder weasel waving wildly as he hurriedly wander in. John slammed the door shut and dropped his pants. John was about to get to business when he heard what sounded like it might have been a scream… or scraping metal.

‘Oh please let that be metal scraping something.’ John thought in desperation.