The Truth About Jane

Peter was just about to turn the water off when he heard his teammates’ conversation a few showers away.

‘She’s just like a little mouse,’ one of the boys in he conversation laughed. ‘So meek.’

Everyone around him agreed, laughing. ‘And talk about ‘Plain Jane,’’ another chimed in. ‘She’s got the bod, but if only she let her hair down once in a while! If I ever got those lily-white legs pried open I’d probably have to pretend she was someone else!’

‘Who’s this?’ Peter called out, turning the shower off and reaching for his towel, beginning to walk over to the group.

‘The real Jane,’ one of the boys called back with a smirk. ‘Your sister! Who else?’

‘She’s just so antisocial. What a geek, always sitting off in a corner with a book, and hardly any friends. If you weren’t Mr Nice Guy, Pete, and try so hard to be good to her at school, she’d probably be a hermit,’ yet another said, slapping Peter on the back good-naturedly.

‘Her mouth could use a bit of colour,’ one guy said. ‘But other than that, I’m sure it could be put to good use.’ His not-so-subtle words caused his buddies to laugh. Peter tried to join in, but in his mind a memory flashed to the surface: just a few days ago, Janie’s mouth on his cock, her gorgeous lips swollen with her efforts as she sucked and licked and worked him into oblivion--and loving every minute of it, too. He could still see his hand gently but firmly fisting her white-blonde curls out of the way in his mind’s eye. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the thoughts before they’d create the inevitable tent in his towel.