i remember my first caressless summer like it was yesterday. it was 1996. Lauren's melons sagged out the bottom of her swimsuit top and i masturbated vigourously, in my minds eyes, to those juicy babies.

i never got laid. i just drifted around like a loner, casting off the pretty smiles of girls who were at least slightly interested. i never talk. i never engage in the rhetoric necessary to disarm, win and slip the panties from a girlies legs. i never win. i've never won.

it was later that first caressless summer that i realized - we all are only here to take, like gripping a ripe fruit from a tree. by this analogy, you could say i don't even possess the skills wielded by migrant laborers, who everyday make sweet sweet sexy salsa and pop out newborn baby beaners like there's no tomorrow.

there is no tomorrow. so live for today. but, for me, it's just an endless string of caressless summers leaving me wondering, wishing to be free.

Why are you telling us about this?