She soared above the crowd, aloof and superior, being both an honor student and popular. She maintained her position by needing nothing from anyone. Blonde, slender, with well-defined muscles and compact handfuls of breast, she glided through the misery of high school like it would never touch her. Now in her senior year, being eighteen and free, she was at the height of her powers. As her college coach, I should’ve known better, but I got flirty over an afternoon of planning her essays.
I’m just past age twenty at the time, floating between going to college and finding a cabin in the woods, with a fetish for breeding. In fact, seeding top-quality women was my only turn on. Everything else left me as limp as a garden hose in the sun, although because of my dirty blonde hair, semi-muscular physique, average but thick penis, and easy-going air, I had no shortage of offers if I was willing to put in the effort to get them (spoiler: I wasn’t). I didn’t mean to turn her, but I told her how much of a joy it was to coach someone so quick-witted, and complimented her on her hair and dress a few times. So sue me, I’m male and proud.