With a furtive glance at the closed door, the teen slips his hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, seeking the familiar hardness that has begun to plague his thoughts. He's an amateur at this, his inexperience evident in his clumsy groping. But as he strokes, he finds a rhythm, a pleasure that makes his breath catch and his heart race. His mind fills with images of the girls at school, their laughter echoing in his mind as he imagines their hands, their mouths, replacing his own. His grip tightens, his strokes becoming urgent, as he races towards a climax that promises a fleeting escape from his teenage hormones.