Ever been ridden by a 18yo?

She plants both hands on your chest, eighteen and certain of exactly what she wants. The weight of her shifts forward, testing, adjusting, finding the angle that makes her breath catch first.

Your hands find her hips almost involuntarily. She doesn't need the guidance — she rolls into a rhythm that feels less like inexperience and more like raw instinct, each movement deliberate, each pause a quiet kind of power.

She watches your face the entire time. That's what you'll remember longest: those eyes, steady and bright, reading every reaction you try to hide.