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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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It may well have been that blazing summer of 1976 or maybe just the one after, I forget now but quite likely. I was in my mid-teens, my hormones were rushing in, and I was getting hardon after continuous hardon. My mum's mail order catalogues and the lingerie section were exciting me as they do all boys, all those bras, panties, stockings, suspenders and basques and teddies, and I spent many a happy hour (or more like a few quick frenzied minutes in truth) teasing myself to furtive, spurting orgasms, but I was curious for more, and fascinated by all things Older Woman, those wonderful female, grown-up faces and bodies, not catalogue-model-perfect but real, so real in their imperfections.
My class teacher at the time, first or second year in secondary school, Mrs B, lived next door as it fortuitously happened, and of course I was hopelessly in romantic love with her. Not so much for her looks - although she was pretty, with an oval face, lovely brown eyes and a sweet smile I'd always try to get her to turn on for me, dark straight hair that she wore close to her head and usually tied back quite severely - but more for her personality and the way she responded to my youthful precocity and burgeoning, inquiring intelligence. We would converse in class about books I'd read, and should read next (having long ago exhausted the junior section of my local library and joined the adult section), and the way I'd sometimes surprise her with something I said, beyond my years maybe, would melt my heart.
So Mrs B, I was on fire for you all that summer. And this one day ...
A slow, hot weekend afternoon. My parents puttering about doing whatever parents do, my dad probably tinkering with his motorbike and my mum doing dinner or something. And me, in my bedroom with my books, supposedly doing homework but in reality thinking my usual dirty thoughts about girls, women, underwear, secret places concealed within the underwear. And the buzzing of a lawnmower outside the window. I look out, and there you are, cutting your front lawn in a flowery, thin summer dress, sandals on your feet, oblivious to me watching you, head down pushing the mower back and forth.
I watch you for a while, and adore you from afar. You are so lovely I can hardly bear to think erotic thoughts about you, I want the romance really but of course I can't have that, but my cock's its usual self and I can't help having them. I stroke myself through my clothes, feeling the sap rising within and the hardness coming. I wonder if I dare ... I unzip the flies of my trousers, pull them down a little and free my erection from my pants, still a new enough experience to be filled with wonder that this thing that was so recently just something small that I peed with has changed, become a demanding and unruly beast with what seems its own mind and personality, that takes me over and induces a feverish need that can only be satisfied by the hot release that makes it small again.
I watch you a little longer, with my cock hard in my hand, stroking myself up and down, pulling the skin over my cock head then back, but I still want more, and dare to drop my trousers and pants altogether and take off my shirt. I'm still sat in my chair so even were you to look up at my window, my nudity wouldn't be an issue. But I want more still, I want risk, danger, and while a part of me knows that this is all wrong and I could get myself into big trouble, a more urgent part of me wants something else entirely. I stand on my bed, you're still mowing away, indifferent to the fervent masturbation that's going on only a few feet away from you, and I realise that I'm now committed, and were you to look up at my window you'd see me buck naked, hand on cock, exposing myself to you. And the state I'm in, I wouldn't care because I'm full of you, rock hard for you, my balls full of rising pressure for you, and I'm so turned on by these thoughts that I last only a few seconds of intense pleasure before I'm coming, gasping and desperate to shout your name so that you'd hear me through the glass but knowing I mustn't, so I whisper it instead and let my semen pump all over the bed in relative quiet, spurt after gushing spurt, then as the flow subsides I fall to my knees, lie down and simply watch you some more till I'm all spent. And mindful of the potential presence of parents, quickly get dressed again and find some toilet roll and clean things up.
Thank you Mrs B, you never knew, but you gave me one of the most intensely erotic experiences of my life, one I never have forgotten to this day. |
