"Everyone tells me how beautiful I am," Amy sobbed into her hands, "but no one shows me how beautiful I am."
Now knowing how to answer, Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the next nervously, his body swaying.
"Amy, you are very beautiful," Tom stammered, "very beautiful, but how do I show you."
Amy looked up at him, the tears still dripping down her cheeks.
"It's not you, it's me, I'm eighteen years old and no one so much as wants to kiss me," Amy answered, a sullen look on her face. "No one wants to hold my hand even. Look at me now, crying, my makeup is a mess, and my clothes are all wrinkled."
"You're a mess," Tom laughed, "but a beautiful mess."
Amy fell forward into Tom's chest and let his arms engulf her.
"Oh Tommy," she moaned, muffled against his shirt, "you are so good to me."
She felt Tommy's embrace tighten around her, his strong hands gently massaging her back. All of the stresses of the day seemed to be lifting off of her shoulders.
She turned her head sideways and let it rest against his chest, enjoying the soothing pressure of his hands against her back.
"You can do that forever Tommy," she looked up at him, "it feels so good."
She looked up at his face, and slowly lifted to her tiptoes, and closing her eyes gently pressed her lips to his.
Tom's body instantly stiffened against Amy, his once gentle hands gripping into her back tightly.
"I'm sorry," Amy backed away, "I don't know what came over me."
Tom loosened his grasp.
"Amy, I mean, Amy," Tom stammered, "what was that all about?"
"I don't know, like I said I don't know what came over me," Amy cuddled back into Tom's chest. "But you were holding me awfully tight, and I could tell you liked it too."
Amy coyly bit her lip and nodded her chin downward. She could feel him bulge against her abdomen, his face red from blushing.
"Amy, I mean, it's not what you think," Tom looked away, pushing her off of his chest. "Stop this."
"You know it feels good. You know you like it," Amy reached her hands out to his chest, and began massaging it through his shirt. "You've always said that you thought I was pretty, that any man would be lucky to have me."
Amy wrapped her arms around Tom's neck, her face looking up into his. She pressed her lips against his neck, as he turned his head to look away.
"Amy, stop, please." Tom protested, vainly pressing her off of him.
Amy felt her body quivering as she ran her tongue gently over the lines of his neck. His taste began to fill her.
"Why are you doing this?" Tom moaned, obviously enjoying himself but still pushing himself away, "Amy please stop."
Amy continued and she worked her hands underneath her shirt. Her gentle licks became kisses. She could feel his pants throbbing against her belly, reinforcing her commitment.