She'd always come running when I called. I couldn't resist her blonde hair and silky skin, or the fact she was always willing to sleep with me on summer and winter breaks from school. I'd come over in the morning; sometimes she had just woken up. We'd go up to her room, with lime-colored walls and rainbow-striped sheets. Entangled, entranced, and full of ecstasy. She'd get me a glass of water after we kissed after sleeping together. I hid my bike behind her house in case her mom came home unexpectedly. Our first time she was 15, and I was 19, and this went on until she was 19, and I was 23. I hate knowing that she may have (and probably did, possibly still does) feelings for me, and I never did a damn thing about it. (This is my story in his point of view, I won't know if this is what he thinks, but one can hope)... I lived for those summer and winter breaks, seeing him almost everyday, having someone to hold on to...