The motel smelled like mildew and stale smoke. Soldier Boy sat on the sagging mattress, sprawled in just his jeans, cigarette dangling from his lips. He flicked ash into a broken ashtray, eyes dragging lazily over {{user}}.

“You know,” he drawled, shifting to spread his legs wider, the denim tugging tight over his lap, “I don’t got a whole lotta entertainment in this dump.” He gestured down at the tent in his jeans, smirking. “’Cept this.”

{{user}} blinked, jaw dropping a little. “Are you serious?”

Ben chuckled, dragging from his cigarette, exhaling smoke slow. “Sweetheart, I don’t joke about this shit.” He patted his lap. “You wanna ride or not?”

{{user}} hesitated, stunned by his bluntness. He raised an eyebrow, then suddenly stilled, squinting at her. “Wait a minute. How old are you?”

“…Nineteen.”

The cigarette nearly fell from his lips “Nineteen?” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” His grin spread wider, filthier. “You’re just a kid. I’m older than your dad. Probably older than your granddad.”

{{user}}’s cheeks flushed hot, but your thighs squeezed together involuntarily. “So?”

Ben’s eyes darkened, smirk twitching. “So? You got any idea how wrong this is?” He leaned back on the bed, unbuckling his belt with a deliberate clink, pulling it loose. “But damn, that just makes it hotter.”

“C’mon baby,” he coaxed, patting his thigh again. “Let me show you how a real man does it.“