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It was getting pathetic. Sydney had crushes on random boys every fifteen minutes but they were like chewing bubble gum: after a while they lost their flavor and her attention.

For Sydney crushes didn’t mean hooking up, or even necessarily speaking to the temporary target of her affection. For Sydney senior year was as much about romantic notions as it was about the actual pursuit of romantic relationships. Her head filled with Shakespeare and Jane Austen, Rhianna and Adele, she was happy to fall in love three or four times a day.

Sydney floated from class to class with her brain in constant competition with itself, taking notes in Calculus II while imagining herself under Mr. Owen’s desk, his hard, brown cock in her mouth while still teaching complicated equations to the class. Her fantasies included teachers, friends’ parents, celebrities, the mail man, anyone that provoked her interest easily wound up naked in her head. Sexual acrobatics and multiple orgasms were standard for all her daydreams. And her real life activities were pretty wild as well, Sydney’s sexual appetite intense and uninhibited: any good-looking guy was a potential lover if his timing was right.

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