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Acknowledgements

    I want to thank my critique partners: Savannah Chase and Ann Riley. A very special
    thanks to my readers for encouraging me to write more. To my adorable little twins, who give
    me a reason to (try to) work hard every day, and to my ever-supporting parents: Love you!

    Erica Pike

    Little Stalker
    by Erica Pike

    The cold window feels like a soothing rag against my thudding head. It dampens the
    piercing ache behind my eyelids as I watch a lean boy, half hidden behind a tree, two stories
    down. I’ve been watching him for the past ten minutes. It’s barely dawn, and the kid is
    standing right where I saw him last, just before midnight, wearing only a red, wide-necked
    sweater and tight black jeans over a pair of badly beat-up sneakers. His white face looks even
    paler than usual where he jumps up and down, flapping his dangling sleeves around his body
    in the faint morning sheen. His dark, boyish-cut hair droops into his eyes and sticks to the
    skin around his ears as he exhales a mist of cold from his full, red lips.
    My sigh leaves a big foggy circle on the window before I slide back under the covers.
    Why is he still there, and what does he want with me?
    As I try to get comfortable, I bump into something warm that’s not supposed to be in
    my bed.
    Not again...
    I push at the slumbering body lying next to me.
    “Hey,” I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. When the body doesn’t move, I
    raise myself up to see a mane of blond hair covering a face I think I recognize. Sandra?
    Sandy?
    “Sarah,” I risk in a barely coherent mumble, pushing harder on her bare shoulder.
    “Cindy,” she mumbles back and brushes the hair out of her face. Brown eyes framed
    by black smear gaze back at me as her eyelids part. A small smile plays upon her pink lips.
    “Hey Coby,” she coos, her smile turning into a catty grin when she crawls upward and
    hovers over my face. The perfume she must have bathed in before going out last night blends
    with my own smell on her, and it’s making me nauseous.
    “I had a great time last night,” she says, voice a bit raspy as she slides her body on top
    of mine, small hands sliding to my dick. The early-morning wood I woke up with had already
    deflated, but now would be a good time for it to return.
    But of course it doesn’t.
    I have to make a conscious effort every time I’m with someone...and sometimes I just
    can’t get it up. It was easier a year ago, but the more I do this... Actually, I’m hoping it’s a
    medical condition, but I’m embarrassed to go see a doctor. I just want to dig a hole and die
    whenever I think about it. How can I explain something like that to this girl? I don’t know
    her. She might very well go out and blurt it to other people. Guys, especially my age, are
    given a hard time for erectile dysfunctions.

    I swallow hard as she plays with the flaccid tool that might as well be lying in a
    casket. Maybe if I close my eyes... God, if it wasn’t for this headache...
    “What, did I over exhaust it last night?” she says with a tease in her voice and a little
    laugh.
    When I open my eyes I see a frown on her face.
    “I’m just tired,” I say and push her off. “Drank too much.”
    My stomach turns when I move to lie on my side. I definitely did drink too much.
    Was she making fun of me just now? What if she compares notes with the other girls? I
    mean, one dead penis could be considered normal, but almost every morning?
    “Coby...”
    I jerk when her tiny hand touches my shoulder, sending these weird, uncomfortable
    goosebumps over my skin.
    “Could you just leave?” I ask rather bluntly. “I need to sleep, and you’re not making it
    possible.”
    “I’m sorry. I’ll let you sleep,” she says, her voice oddly wary. She’s beginning to
    suspect... This is why I never do the same one more than once. If the same girl notices the
    dysfunction every morning, she’ll know, and then everyone else will know. Thing is, my
    cock’s