Teen Wreck

He was not the sort of man that these kinds of opportunities generally came to. And there was no way the memory of that girl would ever fade from his body. He'd bathed in wanton, one-time sex with an unbelievably delectable stranger, who was way out of his league, without even keeping his socks on. In one wreckless afternoon, her brand mark had been pounded into his bare metal with a sledgehammer.

"Tea in the Sahara, with You," his aunt had sung, and he'd had no idea what she was talking about, or how it could possibly matter, but now it was clear as a chorus of tolling bells: He would yearn for that girl for the rest of life, and never have her or anything like her again. Every sexual encounter he would ever have after this would be grossly lacking in comparison, and serve only to remind him of her.

His prospects for happiness had just been truly and thoroughly destroyed.

He'd just been in an unimaginably horrendous teen wreck.

And there wasn't a thing he could do.

"Oh, fuck me!" He said aloud, swallowing hard, and raising his palms to his face. The driver glanced in the rear view mirror at him quisically, but didn't say anything.
"Fuck, fuck fuck!"

Yeah. He was fucked.