Friday night, home and horny (3WW)

3 Word Wednesday about six days late.

The prompts are:
acrid, bane, tepid


Fuck, he was horny. Fuck, he was pissed.
"Fuck them," the perpetually pissed off and horny teenager spat as he sat alone in his bedroom on Friday night.
Sixteen and stuck on restriction for breaking curfew -- again. He couldn't say it was worth it, but he couldn't deny it wasn't.
After all, he'd gotten laid the night before; by the lake, on a blanket beneath a full moon next to the shore. Twice, in fact, which was made him late.
"The smell of acrid smoke and horse's breath," Iron Maiden's Bruce Dickinson sang into the Bose headphones he'd slammed on trying to drown out the world.
She was good. Beautiful and willing, but mostly willing. Oh, he had standards, but the incessant search for carnal knowledge dulled those standards somewhat. His latest conquest wouldn't ever win homecoming queen -- for one, she didn't roll in that social circle -- but, hey, she was a solid 8.
And that was good enough. He'd tired of chasing little Ms. Perfect. He was beginning to realize that OK was good enough, especially when it came to girls, or women, or
No, she wasn't like the tepid girls he'd "dated" in the past, the kind of cocktease he'd wasted many a weekend chasing. The kind who only wanted a boyfriend to drag around school. He'd had enough of those bitches, the kind who clung to him when their friends were around, acting all attentive and loving, but who turned into an ice princess in the backseat after the football game.
As he cranked the music up even louder in an effort to punish his asshole parents, he thought "Which is a bigger bane? My lust for nubile female flesh or my parents' persistent insistence on rules and shit?"
"Defintely, the 'rents," he concluded.
Oh, how great life would be to come and go as he pleased, to stay out till all hours of the night getting nut after nut with his "8."
Fuck, he was horny. Fuck, he was pissed.