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"Take your shoes off," Sammy ordered, with an unfamiliar hint of harshness. "Socks... mmm keep 'em on," she went on, contemplating. "And take that fucking beanie off, yuck!" I was taken aback. She was slagging off my beanie. No-one does that, not even someone with tits.
After I complied, she lifted up the thin sheet to her side and enveloped us inside it. This was nice. Unfamiliar, tense, and scary... but nice.
And it was about to get a lot nicer.
"Look at these," Sammy said, peeling her banana coloured T off, revealing something infinately more eye-catching than a snappy slogan. Approaching a diameter wider than once thought physically possible, my eyelids moved closer and closer to the magical orbs as the rest of my face followed.
What happened next was a performance usually left for infants; an allusion that wasn't lost on Sammy. Comparitively not as well nourished, yet undoubtedly more satisfied than I would have been 17 years ago, I took each hand to Sammy's jean's buttons, in an attempt to wrestle the little fuckers off. Noticing the trouble I was having, Sammy chimed in at the right moment and gently eased the denim barricades away.

After the subsequent removal of her membranous underpants, the quivering mass of sweaty flesh next to me spat out directions on how to make her a happy girl. As much as I found it a bit on the 'off' side, I did as she pleased and began a pitiful masquerade as an algebra teacher... and inserted some digits.
"Ouch, fuck!" she exclaimed in an uneasy yelp, "God, when was the last time you cut your fucking fingernails?"
Met with a mumbling me, Sammy ordered I wait as she fished around her bedside table. "Here. Hurry up." she said as she pelted me with a pair of nail clippers.
After I'd done my nails, and about to move on to the toes, Sammy hit me on the head and swiped the clippers off me.
"Back to what you were told," she sternly scolded.

I'm not sure what she thought of that particular event, but her questions concerning my experience (or lack thereof) in 'that' area weren't too supportive. For me it was about as erotic as searching through a dirty laundry hamper for a forgotten Mars Bar. Additionally, the half-reclined position she forced me into whilst acting out said duty was less than comfortable, and close to torturous to sustain.

Now in a fatigued state, and parts of me hardly up to task, the once-tender Sammy ordered me atop her after an undignified removal of my clothes. With a solemn sigh of appeasement, I tiredly placed myself between her akimbo legs.
"Come on idiot, do something! Imagination creates happy nation!"
Another frustrated order. She wasn't making this easy on the both of us. Heck, even all three of us.

And so, I peeled apart our sweaty, sticky stomachs. I sat up.
"I just can't do this Sammy," I moaned. With a confused sadness in my eye, and concerned unsuredness in my brow, I leant over to pick my beanie up off the floor. Not able to find my shorts, I geniusly placed it over my cock as I went to get a drink.

In a reflective mood as I watched the heapingly piled Milo disappear into a brown milk vortex, I thought of what that night was, and what it could have been. It could've been my chance to kick down the doors of adulthood and finally label myself a man. It could've even been my chance to finally trump Spike, and prove to him once and for all that he's the ugliest of us both.
But most importantly, it could have been a night where I'd given away something I'd never really thought that significant to someone, only to forever rue letting such an undeserving, improper, and painfully remembered recipient near it.
And as Sammy stomped into the kitchen and abused me for using too much Milo and her housemate's milk, I knew I'd made the right choice.

After that, I eventually walked home despite the cold wind and my continued lack of shorts.
I was asleep before I even hit the pillow.