"It's too damned bad your parents won't let you go with us," Jill observed, lifting the curtain aside and peering down from her window. "I feel awful about going off to the beach and leaving ya here alone."

"Not half as bad as I feel," I agreed, going to join her. I looked down, toward the backyard pool and patio, and my heart did a little fandango behind my left breast. Jill's brother was down there lifting weights beside the pool, and I could feel my saliva's flow increase fantastically.

Remember what I said about the right guy a little bit ago? Well, maybe it was only a teenaged crush – maybe it was just the kind of infatuation you get when you're young and susceptible – but as far as I was concerned, Greg Pettit was Mr. Right, with a capital R. Everything. He's tall and he's built, with sunburnt hair and a Pearl Drops smile and the bluest eyes a boy ever had. When Jill and I were much younger, it was great pretending that Greg was my big brother as well as hers, but the last couple of years he's seemed so much more.

As if he noticed, he's going to college this fall, and most of the time he keeps on treating us like the little kids we used to be. He's nice, and he always has a smile for me, but I can tell that as far as he's concerned, I'm just his sister's playmate. Last spring I began to get these really hot urges for him, if you know what I mean. I'd lie in bed with the lights out, and I'd see his face gleaming in the darkness, brightening the whole room with his desire for me. And I'd shiver and shake under the covers, positive that any day now he'd look at me in real life and see the hungry, yearning woman hidden inside my ripening teenaged body. And he'd know. His arms would enfold me, he'd bathe my face with his eager burning kisses, my breasts would harden – not to mention his pecker! – where our bodies rubbed and pressed together, and he'd lay me down upon a bed of silk where I might surrender to him the pleasure of my virginity.