God, do you hate that Dieter. He’s so smug. And so much better at tennis. You were the best in the Naval Academy, but his father hires a personal trainer for him. And he has beat you. And you have to stand there watching as his father congratulates him. Your father is always busy with work, even on holiday in the Hamptons.
You joined the navy. He went to Yale. You thought that coming home with war stories and tattoos would make you cool, and popular. But whenever Dieter is around, all the girls give him doe eyes. And all the boys watch his every move to mimic him. He is so articulate, and funny, and so fit. The skin is glistening from sweat in the sun.
You scoff and turn to put away your racket. Goodness do you hate that boy. And yet, all you can fantasize about is pinning him down anywhere and fucking his perfect ass until you have broken his previous conceptions of what sex should be for him. He may be perfect, and handsome, and athletic and smart, but he cannot fuck himself. Maybe he does not know yet that that is what he wants. But you think he does. You heard the rumors. It gives you a smug feeling to know it will be you. One day you will put Dieter in his place, and make him come all over his Yale sweater.
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Captions are fictional.