I am the last teacher in the world I would expect to sleep with one of her students. I am good-looking, I have had plenty of boyfriends, and have never been what I would consider some kind of slut.
This is what happened to me last spring. Names changed to protect the guilty.
I have been a teacher at Andrew Jackson Middle School for over six years.
Bobby Hunter was just an average 13 year old kid in my fourth period class. About 5'6", dark hair, blue eyes, average build. I never looked at him twice, or any of the other boys for that matter.
One day in May, as class was letting out, Bobby was walking past my desk on his way out of class, and I felt his gaze on my chest. It was a warm day and I had worn a blouse that showed just an inch or two of cleavage. It is not unusual for boys to look down my blouse, and I don't mind. My philosophy is what the hell, let them look.
I looked back at him, expecting him to flush and move on when he saw that I had caught him staring. Then I noticed, right in front of my desktop, that he had a simply enormous boner in his pants.
I didn't realize what it was at first -- just a big lump that was distending the front of his pants to a considerable degree. I honestly wondered what it was, and when it occurred to me that he had an erection, I was too surprised to even blush.
I stared back, and when I realized that I was staring at a 13 year old boy's crotch I quickly averted my gaze. Bobby walked on out of the room. I was surprised to feel my nipples tingling and hardening in my bra, and I was glad that he wasn't there to see it.
I had just had a pussy-dampening experience with a student. Well, he was kind of cute. I thought about him off and on throughout the rest of the day, and fantasized about that big erection.
That night I dreamed about him. I don't remember all of the dream, just that we were alone somewhere and I was trying to get his pants off and I couldn't get them off because they kept snagging on his hard-on, and I was unbelievably horny.
I woke up dripping wet between my legs and finished myself off with my hand, masturbating furiously. My clitoris was jutting out like the prow of a ship.
The next day my closest friend on the teaching staff, Cathy Barton, and I had a lunch date, and over lunch I told her the whole thing.
Cathy looked thoughtful. "You know, I know of at least three teachers who have had affairs with students here," she said. "Two men, and one woman. One of the men was caught and nearly fired, but they hushed it up somehow."
"Who was the woman? The one who had an affair with a student, I mean."
"I'm not telling. I'll tell you who the student was. Do you know Raymond Anthony?"
"Oh, him? I had him in my class two years ago. He's in the ninth grade now, right? He seems like a pretty average boy. What was the attraction?"
"Well...he isn't a perfectly average boy, if you catch my drift. He's really quite big for his age, where it counts. All the girls in the ninth grade know about him, he has a reputation."
"What sort of reputation?"
"Well, the rumor that was going around a few months ago was that he was still a virgin...because every girl he tried it with found out it was too big to fit in her. Three different girls felt it at his sister's slumber party. They were playing Post Office."
"And he slept with a teacher?"
"One of the teachers heard about it and decided to help him with his little problem." Cathy giggled at this. "But it's a big secret."
"I'll bet it was that Miss Josephson who teaches Geography. She's such a little slut. The boys drool over her."
"Well, it wasn't her, and she really isn't such a slut. People just think she is because she's got big boobs. Yours are almost as big, but nobody thinks you're a slut."
"Because of the glasses. And I don't dress to show off my figure when I'm at school. I made an exception yesterday, and look what happened from just showing an inch of cleavage."
"You should. You really do have a nice rack on you, you know. I'm not surprised he was looking. Why don't you unbutton another button on that thing you're wear- ing today, and see if he notices?"
"Oh, my god, no." I giggled. "You make me feel like such a perv. Like this?" And I unbuttoned one more button at the top of my blouse, tugged it down and carefully arranged the lapels.
"That's better. You can see your boobs now, but not too much, and the edge of your bra."
I rebuttoned. "Well, we'll see. I don't really think I'm going to go trolling for a 13 year old to look down my blouse."
But I did, of course. At the end of the fourth period I couldn't resist and undid the button again and tugged my blouse downward. Sure enough, as Bobby walked by my desk after I dismissed the class he stared at my chest.
I couldn't resist teasing him a little bit -- he really is a nice looking boy -- so I beckoned to him and leaned forward over my desk while I asked him about a homework assignment, deliberately thrusting my 36D tits in his face and taking a deep breath to expand my chest.
Now ordinarily I wear sensible underwear to school but as it happened that morning all of my sensible under- wear was in the dirty hamper; and the stuff I usually save for dates was clean, since I hadn't been out on a date in months. It wasn't a conscious decision, but I just happened to put on one of those bras that you wear when you want to show a little. Not a WonderBra, or something out of the Victoria's Secret catalog, but you could pretty easily tell I was a big girl.
He noticed alright. Mother used to refer to them, when she was being funny, as my "boy magnets". He was magnetized. His face reddened and while I continued to talk about the assignment, Bobby nodding as though he was paying attention while he clearly was not hearing a word I said, I snuck a peek at his crotch.
Something behind his zipper lengthened and stiffened into a big thick lump that jutted out from his pants and pumped back and forth a little, straining against the fabric. I was fascinated. It was like some kind of animal mating display in a nature documentary.
Once again I felt my nipples hardening. Would it show? In this bra, yes, when my nipples were erect they poked through. Would he notice? I looked down at myself and I could see a big bump where the left nipple was sticking out. I was breathing hard. This little game of I'll- show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours had gone far enough.
"So you'll have it in by the end of the week?" I asked with a smile.
"Yes, Miss Wanshel," he choked out.
"Good. See you in class tomorrow." I smiled at him and tried to meet his eyes -- he still wasn't looking me in the face -- and then turned around to erase the black- board. My nipples stuck out half an inch. I looked obscene. I rearranged my clothes, fastened the button and thought of horrible things until I could feel the swelling in my areolae going down.
That night I dreamed about him again. This time I had no problem getting his pants down. He was big and thick between my legs, pumping hard, and I was gasping and moaning and almost about to come for what seemed in the dream like a very long time.
I woke up in a sweat with a damp spot under me on the bed, and hurriedly finished myself off, one hand shov- ing fingers up inside me and the other rubbing my clit hard until I came. There was no time to reach for the vibrator and no need for it. My orgasm lasted almost a minute.
The next morning was Wednesday, and I wasn't supposed to meet Cathy but she sent me a note between classes suggesting we do lunch again. I met her on our break and we got into her car and drove out toward a ham- burger place on the highway.
"He's in my fifth period class. He's such a little dreamboat. God, I'm even envious that he has a crush on you," she said once we were in the car. "So, what happened in class yesterday?"
I told her all the gory details. She wanted to know how big his bulge was, and whether any of the other boys noticed my boobs, and whether any of the girls noticed his erection. And which bra I had worn today.
"I'm not showing any cleavage today. I don't want to be known as a slut."
"What are you wearing tomorrow, then?"
She tried to convince me I should wear something clingy and go braless. Or a miniskirt. Going braless works if you're built like her, but it's a mistake if you are a D cup, and there is in fact a dress code for teachers at Andrew Jackson Middle School that specifically pro- hibits miniskirts. So I convinced her that I was going to wear what I usually wear, regardless.
"He really is good-looking. Have you thought about it?"
"About whether you really want to do it with him?"
"He's a boy! Thirteen years old!"
"I know, but look, you're dreaming about him. Two nights in a row. Once you start dreaming about a man you're probably going to give in, in the end."
"He's not a man, he's a boy."
She giggled. "He's big enough. So, what do we have here? Just a young man, a sympathetic older woman, and a little private lesson in sex education. In France it would be considered perfectly normal."
"Nobody considers it normal here. Here, I could go to jail."
"I consider it normal. Look, there are at least two male teachers doing the same thing, and they aren't going to jail. If you get called into the principal's office you just deny everything, and I'll back you up that you were somewhere else when the boy says he was doing you. And if they don't buy that you threaten to expose the male teachers that have been screwing 15 year old girls, since it's not fair you should get fired while they get covered up."
So we went round and round about it and completely missed the chance to get lunch -- we grabbed a couple of containers of yogurt on the way back to school. She convinced me that my libido was completely wrapped up in this and that I wouldn't be free of it until I gave in and did it. Also, she told me a few things about Raymond Anthony that really whetted my appetite...
"...so, when she unzipped him, you know what she finds? Nine inches. And he's only 15. Imagine when he's in college -- he's going to be hung like a horse. He'll have to have penis-reduction surgery."
Hmmm. "I've never had one that big. I've never even seen nine inches, in real life. I'd be afraid of being banged in the cervix. Besides, it's really two things that matter -- is it wide enough to fill you up, and can he keep it hard long enough until you come."
"In his case, it's thick enough, and he does come like a jackrabbit the first two times. But they do it about five times in one session."
"He's fifteen years old. That's what you have a younger lover for. They can screw for hours, you have to fight them off when you start getting sore. And he has lots of energy. Not like some 40 year old guy who's going to roll off you and take a nap after he comes."
I paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Raymond's not my type."
"Yeah, too bad he's taken, isn't it. I was just think- ing the same thing," she laughed. "However, you do have Bobby."
"Yes, I do." I thought about it. "But suppose Bobby doesn't have much of a cock when I unzip him, assuming it ever comes to that?" I was picturing a skinny little wiener that I couldn't feel touching the sides of my vagina. I've never had that problem with a man but I had a girlfriend who did. "What if he just ejaculates prematurely, and then can't get it hard again?"
"At that age you really don't have to worry about them not getting hard again. Making it stay down for more than 5 minutes is the trick. I checked Bobby out in my class and I don't think you've got much to worry about in the penis department. He's got a bigger bulge than the other boys. Isn't that why you noticed him? You've probably had other boys get hard in your class and their erections weren't big enough for you to notice. You probably noticed his because it -- ahem -- "stands out". I bet he's well hung. Anyway, I know someone who can find out."
"A boy in one of my classes. He'll tell me. I think they have gym together so I'll just ask him to check Bobby out in the shower."
"Omigod, never. You can't ask another boy to do that."
"In this case, I can." She smiled. "He's gay. He tells me everything, and I keep his secrets. I'll tell him I have a friend who's interested in Bobby Hunter and that we want a full report on his endowment."
"Well...just don't mention my name!" I laughed.
I dreamed about Bobby two more times over the weekend, and had some pretty serious masturbation fantasies even while I was awake. Mostly I dreamed about a big cock and getting pounded silly for hours. I needed to get laid badly.
Monday afternoon I saw Cathy. "I spoke to my little friend," she said.
"He knows Bobby, and he says Bobby has a big one. Pro- bably the second most hung boy in the seventh grade, in his opinion."
My eyes must have brightened. I felt relieved and excited.
"And how hung is that?"
"He's not absolutely sure, but he's blown the boy with the biggest one, and he said it was this thick." She held her thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. "He said I couldn't get my hand around it at the thickest part."
"He blew him? Everybody in this school is getting laid except us! So which boy is this?"
"He won't say. He's afraid we'll poach on his terri- tory. But he said Bobby's seems to be almost as well- developed, judging from what you see in the shower. He'd like to see it at full-size himself."
I was very pleased at this news, although I knew that you couldn't always tell from what the boys saw in the locker room. If you want an accurate report you need to ask a girl, and there weren't any girls who had seen Bobby's penis. Yet.
"We are talking like a couple of tarts," I said with a laugh.
"We are a couple of tarts."
"I remember when I was the first girl in my class to wear a real bra. All the seventh grade boys were talk- ing about me then, just like we're talking about them now. I got my first B cup when I was 13 and grown men were hitting on me."
"You seem to have come out of it okay."
"There were a few traumatic moments. Did I ever tell you about my senior prom? I wore a really low cut gown, and when I came downstairs my mother said, "Oh, I didn't know the senior class was going to see the Grand Canyon!" Right in front of my father and my date! I could have died."
"God that's terrible. My father used to make cracks about how flat I was."
"The worst was in the eighth grade, there were these boys who used to kid me about wearing falsies. And we were playing this game where you have to do a dare or take a forfeit, and one time they dared me to prove I wasn't wearing falsies. I said no way, and they decided my forfeit was that they would all get to feel me for 10 seconds. And I started to walk away, and one of the boys grabbed me and pinned my arms back and they all took turns feeling me."
"The funny thing is, I did sort of enjoy it. I got wet between my legs. They let me go after they all got a good feel and I ran home crying, but I was actually very excited."
"I've always wondered what it was like to have big ones like yours."
"I've always thought yours are very firm and nicely shaped. You're lucky."
"The nice thing about them is that they're perky and I can go without a bra. I just wish they were a size big- ger."
I thought about my breasts on the way back to school. When I look at myself in the mirror they look big and soft and and round, nicely shaped and smooth. Would Bobby like them when he saw me naked? They do sag a little; and you know, like any woman, once I am com- pletely undressed I feel a little exposed. They are certainly big enough and enough men have complimented me on how good they feel that I felt pretty secure that he would enjoy touching them. And I would probably be his first woman, probably the first woman or girl he had ever seen completely naked close up. If I went through with this. Was I going to?
I never consciously made up my mind, but after class later that day I cornered Bobby and asked him about the overdue assignment which he had promised to hand in Friday. He apologized and asked for an extension.
"Maybe I could give you some help with it, if that would make it easier? If you want to show me what you've got I'll go over it with you," I said.
"Uh, thanks, sure, I guess." He didn't seem the least bit unhappy with the idea. Being alone with his crush probably didn't sound bad at all.
"When are you free during the day?"
"That doesn't work for me. Are you free after school tomorrow?"
"Well, stay after school and bring your project and I'll see you here after the last class."
And thus I started down the road to being a statutory rapist.
The next morning I took extra care with washing my hair and applying my makeup. I wore what I consider a very attractive little black dress, with a scoop neck and a lowcut semi-pushup type bra. They don't make pushup bras in my size and this one was about a half-size too small, which makes you spill out a little over the top. Over that I wore a very light sweater that I hoped wouldn't get too warm and make me perspire, because it was going to have to cover me up until school was out.
It was a long day, and I did perspire, slightly, but the fan in my classroom helped. I unbuttoned the sweater at one point and there was so much of me hang- ing out I had to quickly button up again. I looked like one of those wenches on the covers of the bodice-ripper books. If Principal Conway saw me he would either send me home in the middle of the day, or ask me for a date. I felt sexy.
During fourth period it was all I could do not to stare at Bobby. I deliberately looked away and avoided call- ing on him, although he seemed to be looking at me a lot. I turned my back while he was walking out at the end of class so I wouldn't have to interact with him.
And after the last class, after the last student had left and I was all alone in the classroom, there he was.
I wiped my brow and casually took off the sweater.
"It's a bit warm in here, don't you think? They always turn off the air conditioner when school lets out," I said.
He responded to this little bit of strip tease about as you would expect. His eyes bugged and he stared at my decolletage. I had sprayed just a little perfume in there and I wondered if he was smelling the aroma com- ing off my warm, musky breasts. He was looking right at them and my nipples were standing out like a couple of pencil erasers and he saw them too. I made no effort to hide them. I breathed in deep, pulled my shoulders back a little and smiled. I couldn't read the expres- sion on his face.
Cathy's little gay friend, whoever he was, was right about him. I had been checking out some of the other boys for comparison, and the bulge in Bobby's pants was bigger. Bigger relaxed, and bigger hard...and it was getting very hard.
And I couldn't do anything about it because we were in a classroom and there were at least a hundred people still in the building, any one of whom might walk in on us for any reason at all.
I cleared my throat -- there seemed to be something in it -- and addressed Bobby, as a teacher to a student. We sat down, the two of us, not touching, not sending smoldering glances back and forth (as if he would be so bold! the shy kid) and went over the assignment for an hour, then another twenty minutes, and he was start- ing to look pretty peaked and I figured that very few people would be left to see us leave together.
I offered him a ride home and he accepted, and my heart went pitter-patter very hard against my rib cage and we walked out to my car and drove away.
"You know, I've got a book that might help you. It's at my house -- we could swing by and get it on the way," I said. My voice sounded distant and funny, like someone else was talking.
We drove mostly in silence to my home and pulled into the garage. I closed the garage door with the remote control in my glovebox, thank heaven for that, and no one saw us get out of the car.
I had a perfectly good excuse for dropping in at my home with him -- I really did have a book he could use on the assignment, and he really was my student, and yes I had probably broken one or two rules in the teachers' code about being alone with students, but nobody ever enforced those rules on women teachers. They were there to keep the male teachers off the more advanced girls.
We went up the steps and entered my home, and I got the book, and I heard myself say:
"Would you like something cold to drink?"
He said yes and we walked to the fridge and I got him a soda, and we stood side by side looking into the refrigerator and I said "Would you like a sandwich? I'm kind of hungry myself."
And he said sure and I made us sandwiches and while we ate we made a little idle chitchat and I tried to think of how I was going to get into his pants.
"If you're not in any hurry, why don't you have a look at the book while I change...I really need to get out of this tight dress."
This isn't going to work, I thought. I was just stall- ing for time.
I jammed the zipper on the dress -- which was not easy, believe me, it took about twenty tries -- and went back into the kitchen to get his help.
"This zipper is stuck -- do you think you could get it free for me?"
I felt his strong male hands -- only a boy? beginning to be a man -- brush against my shoulder and the back of my neck while he got the zipper free. When it finally came loose he went ahead and pulled it all the way down -- I didn't have to ask and I'm afraid I knew I would not have the nerve -- and he could see my back and my bra strap and the top of my panties, since it zipped down just to the top of my butt. They say the small of a woman's back is her sexiest erogenous zone, and I've never believed that's true but I was hoping it was, because it was all I was showing him.
I pulled down the dress a little, exposing my shoulders. I sighed gratefully and thanked him and complimented him on his strong hands, which is hooey of course but it's what boys like to hear. I couldn't see his face, with my back turned, so I turned around, clutching the dress to myself so that I was actually showing less of my cleavage than before but in what I think was a very sexy way. I smiled and looked into his eyes and he looked a bit dazed but he looked back steadily into my eyes for one long glorious moment.
"You're welcome," is all he said.
"I'll be right back," I told him and made my exit, swaying my hips as I walked away, knowing that he was looking at me, looking at my round ass and my swaying hips and my chestnut hair. And getting hard again, I hoped.
I can be a tease when I want to.
I went back to my room and almost turned down the bed before stopping myself. I hadn't gotten anywhere yet, I had only given him a little show, and I hadn't checked his reaction. Except for that one look he had given me which said that he saw a woman, not a teacher, when he looked at me, and he was brave enough to want me to see a man when I looked at him.
I changed into shorts and a no-bra bra and a clingy sport shirt at least one size too small for my chest. It was nice and tight, and you could sure as hell see my nipples, even when they weren't hard.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I did look like a schoolboy's fantasy -- lush rounded curves, a pert nose and a pretty face. This is a virgin boy, I told myself. He wants me, I want him, all I have to do is make it easy.
I walked back into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of milk and as I turned around I tripped and spilled it all over him.
Yes, it was deliberate. But it all felt so natural it seemed like an accident, even to me.
"Omigod, I'm sorry!" I covered my mouth with my hands in mock horror. "Don't move, I'll clean you up."
I stalled around the kitchen pretending to hunt for the paper towels while I let the milk soak in, then found them and tried to wipe him off.
"This is going to stain I'm afraid. Unless they're washed right away. Why don't you step into the bathroom and take them off and I'll throw them into the washing machine real fast. It won't take any time at all."
"I really need to get home," he said haltingly.
"I can't send you home like this, your mother would kill you. Let me fix you up and you can call home and explain that you're going to be a little late."
"They don't really care if I'm on time for dinner or not. I usually stop at a friend's after school."
"Good. Just go in there," as I led him to the bathroom, "and take off your shirt and pants and pass them through the door to me. I'll find you a robe or some- thing to wear."
He complied and a minute later the door opened a crack and he shyly thrust his clothes through.
"Did your underwear get a little wet too? Better give it to me."
"It's okay," he muttered.
"I'm a grown woman and I've seen boys' underwear before. You can give it to me, I won't blush." (heh heh)
He reluctantly complied. Except for his socks he was naked behind the door -- I had a nude boy in my bath- room.
Now what? Well, I had to wash the clothes, that was clear, and that kept me busy for 5 minutes while I started the presoak and got out the laundry powder. Then I went back to the bedroom and found him something to wear.
I found him a pair of men's pajama bottoms. I found the top, too, but he didn't really need that, now did he?
"Here, wear this. I can't find the shirt, but see if that fits."
"Okay, it fits."
"Let's have some tea while the clothes are washing, then. You don't need a shirt."
He came out somewhat sheepishly and we went into the living room and I made him sit down on the couch and I went off to start the tea, then came back and sat down right next to him. Exactly the sort of maneuver a hundred boys had tried with me -- he was trapped be- tween me and the arm of the sofa.
"So, tell me about yourself, Bobby. What are your interests, hobbies?"
"Oh, I don't really have any hobbies." It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk, all bare-chested as he was.
"You know, I think you're the best teacher in the school. I've really enjoyed being in your class this semester."
"Why, thank you, Bobby. And may I say that I've enjoyed having you as a student."
"I'm not the best student, I know."
"The best student isn't the one who gets the highest test scores. It's the student who gets the most out of the class."
"I get a lot out of your class. I look forward to it, every day. I'd come even if I didn't have to."
"I know you would." (At least, I knew he'd come for the pleasure of ogling me.) "I know that the reason you've been late with your assignments is that you're reluctant to hand them in until you're sure you've done a good job."
"I don't want to disappoint you." (Oh Bobby, I don't want you to disappoint me either! I thought.)
"You don't. You are a very promising young man, Bobby. I have great hopes for you. Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?" (Boy, there's a question I've never asked a date before.)
"I don't really know. I think about a lot of different things, you know? But it's hard to settle on just one. I think what my Dad does is interesting. He's a compu- ter software engineer." He bit his lower lip awkwardly and lifted his gaze from my chest to look me in the face for a few seconds.
"You're a nice strong boy, Bobby. Look at those muscles." I gave him a playful squeeze on the bicep, trying not to be too obvious. "Do you go out for any sports?"
"I play a little baseball after school but I'm not on the team."
I hadn't given him any underwear and I could see the outline of his penis more clearly through the thin cloth of the pajamas than I ever had before. He looked about half hard, and I could even see that he appeared to be circumcised. And it looked just as thick as the dick he had in my dreams. A man-sized tool.
We chatted inconsequentially for a while and I let my thigh touch his and patted his arm. I had to get up to start the washing machine and come back, and when I brought in our tea. He had shifted his position so that I couldn't see the outline of his penis anymore. On purpose, out of embarrassment?
"I'll try not to spill anything this time," I said.
We made more small talk with me doing about 90% of the talking and drank a little of the tea, and I found out that he was pretty good in math, and he liked movies (Star Wars, of course, and that sort of thing) and had once collected bugs, although he had lost interest in that lately. And he kept sneaking little peeks at my legs (which I crossed and uncrossed for his benefit) and tits.
I did not have any doubt that he would say yes to any- thing I suggested, if I could avoid scaring the hell out of him in suggesting it.
"You know, I get a bit of a backache sometimes," (actually I do, from hauling these heavy tits around) "after working all day. Would you be willing to rub my back for me?"
A classic and embarrassingly obvious gambit, but not too obvious for junior high school.
"Um, I don't know how."
"Oh -- " (I had been planning to take this somewhere else but when he said that it gave me an idea) " -- I'll teach you. I'll give you a backrub to show you how it's done. Turn around."
And I proceeded to go to work on his bare back and shoulders. His skin was as smooth as a baby's behind, and his muscles showed early promise of the masculine power of a grown man. He really should go out for sports, I thought, and develop this body of his.
"Do you like that?"
"It feels good."
"It gets better. Can you lie down? -- No, not on the sofa, you're too tall...how about the floor...I know, let's go in next room --"
-- I led him into my bedroom --
" -- and you can just stretch out flat on the bed. Take your shoes off first though."
Fortunately his feet didn't smell. Much.
He stretched out as I bid him and I started pounding his back with a gusto that made him yelp with surprise, but then he got into it and so did I. Here we were in my bed, neither of us wearing very much, an attractive woman (so I flatter myself) trying to deflower a naive (but well-hung) youth...
"Roll over," I said.
This was really just to check the state of his cock. It was visible under the pajamas again but still only half hard, if I could judge. I started massaging his chest, which his utter lack of chest hair (except for a few stray strands around his nipples) made feasible. I brushed his nipples lightly while doing this, as he gazed up into my chest, and I noted with satisfaction that the second time I brushed against them they seemed to have hardened a bit.
My own nipples answered in kind and he was looking at them. I straddled one of his legs with mine as I con- tinued to poke and rub his chest and shoulder muscles and I brought my knee up to where it was just touching his balls.
As I continued to massage him I moved my hands lower and lower over his abdomen, toward his pelvis, explain- ing the theory of massage and flattering him on his really fine build, and I felt the stirrings of his penis against my thigh.
I swept my hand lower and then I felt his penis jerk against my leg. I began giving him luxurious strokes with the flat of my hand, up and down his torso. I wiggled my fanny just a little on his leg as I strad- dled it.
I was feeling rather warm myself. I couldn't tell if I was lubricating or not. I felt his warmth against my legs, and I shifted back on the bed away from him so I could see his cock.
It was hard. It was big, and rock-hard, straining visi- bly at the fabric of the pajama bottom, and he was red- faced and breathing hard. I was tempted to just reach out and grab it. I wanted to feel that big dick inside me.
"Does that feel nice?" I said.
"Uh-huh." He could barely speak -- his tongue seemed to be larger than his mouth.
"Now you do me. Sit up and I'll lie down."
And as he sat up I turned away from him slightly -- not all the way -- and peeled off the shirt, so that he could get a good glimpse of the side of my cups. I lay down and started to unsnap my bra, but I was in an awkward position, so --
"Would you unhook my bra strap for me please?"
He fumbled with it as eagerly as any teenage boy in the backseat of a car. Eventually he got it loose (the mysteries of bra hooks have never been completely clear to the male sex) and I wondered whether he was going to read the label on the strap and notice that I was a 36D, possibly confirming a guess he might have made earlier. He got up and moved around to get in a better position, and fell out of the pajama bottom.
Or rather, his dick fell out. Right through the slot in the pajama bottoms men use to pee through, I guess, and there it was sticking out right at me.
I rolled over on my side, clutching my bra to me, and looked right at it. He turned red.
"Oops!" I giggled. "You sort of fell out there. But that's okay." I smiled and watched as he seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty stuffing it back in his pants.
"Really, Robert, don't be embarrassed. I don't mind. I've seen naked men before. That's a very well-develop- ed penis you have," I said. "You don't mind if I say so, do you? It's a real man's penis."
"You know," I said, "I've heard that you have the biggest penis in the seventh grade" (this was a slight exaggeration) "and I can see for myself that you pro- bably do. You are a very lucky young man, to be so well-hung, to be so well-built and good-looking. You are going to make many girls very happy."
He looked like he was in shock but he blushed when I praised his dick.
"Is that really true? About me having the biggest one, I mean?"
"So I heard. And I believe it. I bet I can barely get my hand around it, it's so fat." I tried to put my hand around it and in fact I couldn't get my fingers all the way around the thick part. His big warm tool throbbed in my hand and I felt wetness running down the inside of my thighs.
Oh, Bobby... I thought.
I pulled down his pajama pants to get a better look at him. He didn't resist. I cupped his balls in one hand and held his heavy dick in the other, turning it to get a good look. It was long, thick, and well-shaped. It was a brownish pink, very hard, and the skin was stretched very tight. It was as taut as a balloon, looking as if it inflated anymore it would burst.
It was about eight inches long, I estimated. Later on when I had a chance to measure it I found that my guess was correct. It was over seven inches in circumference, around the thickest part, just below the head. The skin looked like it was painted on. It felt like a big hard muscle, when a man lets you feel his bicep.
His abdomen was almost hairless except for a spray of bark hairs around the base of his cock and lightly covering his balls.
Hanging on his slender body, as it did, the effect of a big dick on a small frame was all the more impressive. I admired it.
(The next day I found a cucumber almost exactly the same size and handed it to Cathy over lunch. "I'd like to have a cucumber like that in my vegetable bin," she said.)
"My, you've really got a big one, Bobby," I said, inspecting it through my glasses.
"Thank you," was all he could say.
"Bobby, since you've let me look at you, would you like to look at me? I'll show you mine, since you've shown me yours. Would you like that?"
He made a barely perceptible nod. He seemed to be twitching. His penis was standing up at a 45 degree angle, and seemed to be swelling to the bursting point.
I took off my glasses, and then I sat back and removed my bra. I took it off and let my big chest melons hang down. I arched my back a little for the effect.
Bobby's eyes widened.
"Oh, Miss Wanshel," he almost whispered. "They're so beautiful. Can I touch them?"
"Call me Jenny, Bobby. You can touch them all you want."
He put his trembling hands on my big tits and began to explore. He stroked me gently, and touched my nipples, which were as hard as his dick. I could tell he loved my knockers. He hefted them in his hands to feel the weight, and slid his fingers into the deep crevice of my cleavage, and brushed and petted them lightly.
I moved forward and brought my breasts right into his face.
"Would you like to suck them, Bobby?"
His head came down and his lips encircled one of my engorged nipples and began to suck. It felt wonderful. I held his penis in my hand, gently pulling it back and forth, and as he buried his face deeper into my tits he gave a sort of strangled gasp and I felt hot jism spurt all over my side and on my hand as he came.
And this was after about 30 seconds of foreplay. It was not a promising start. I was a bit concerned, but not surprised. Now I was going to get to find out if he could get hard again and come 5 times, like Ray Anthony.
I got rid of most of the sperm as best I could, ruining my best coverlet in the process, and before he could think twice my head dove between his legs and I had my mouth on his organ. I wanted to talk to him and tell him it was okay that he came and he was going to come plenty more before we were through, but I couldn't talk with his fat dick in my mouth. I was sucking him gently but firmly, patiently, and stroking his thighs and his taut buttocks with my hands, and licking his dick with my tongue as it shrank in my mouth. He didn't say any- thing, he lay back, and after a while he started get- ting big again.
When his hose started going down my throat and I start- ed to gag I surfaced and took his head in my hands and kissed him, long and deep, sticking my tongue in and exploring his mouth. I placed his hands on my breasts and let him feel them. He squeezed them like fruit at the supermarket but I was so on fire by then I didn't care. It felt good. And when I reached back after a while to see how things were going with his cock it was once again at full stand.
"Now Bobby, we are going to do something different. Get up and let me lie down," and I lay down on the bed and spread my legs open wide, exposing my dripping wet pussy, and pulled him to me.
"All you have to do," I said, "is put this nice big thing of yours right inside this little slit of mine, right --" there. I felt the touch of his cockhead against my clit, and it was like a shock of electricity coursing through my body from my vagina. My pussy throbbed. I rubbed his cockhead up and down along my slick wet slit and at last I felt the head start to go in.
"Now push a little, Bobby. Push it in." He was panting hard and had his eyes shut tight and I felt the knob pop into my vestibule, and I said:
"Pull it out now, and put it back in. In and out, like that." He complied, and I felt his dickhead rubbing in and out of the end of my vagina, past the little ring of tight muscles at the open end, and it felt so good when his thick hard cock finally started to slide in deeper that I gasped out loud. Oh, god, yes, ogodogod. I hadn't been laid for months and it felt really good. His big muscle was sliding in and out of me, a little deeper each time, and I moaned "Oh fuck me Bobby, fuck me!"
And he just said "Oh, Miss Wanshel."
We didn't talk much, we were both panting and breathing hard. I felt him going in deeper and finally he was in up to the hilt. I felt nice and full, just as I had in my dreams. He looked happy. He felt happy. I could feel every inch of his meat up the length of my cunt.
"Now pull almost all the way out, Bobby, until only the tip is inside. Then go all the way back in." He stroked up and down, clumsily. He gave me another stroke and another and then got the hang of it and began to pound me like a man, hammering at my pussy like a stud while I wrapped my arms around him and arched my back and whimpered. My hot wet pussy rose to meet him on each thrust. It was good hot fucking. He was puffing like a locomotive and sweat was rolling down his sides. Sweat was rolling down me and mingling with the pussy juices that were making a big wet spot in the bed, and then he came, just as I was starting to get there. He shot off inside me (had I stopped to think about birth control? Oh my god!) and I felt his big organ pulsing inside me and I kissed my boy lover and he kissed me as the jets of hot sperm filled my womb.
I hadn't really expected that this was going to happen. I had thought that if anything did happen there would be plenty of time to go to the bathroom and stick in the diaphragm. In the heat of the moment I lost track of what I should have been doing. Fortunately I did not get pregnant and I've been more careful since.
"Oh, Bobby," I told him when our lips parted. "That was really good. You fuck like a grown man. Have you ever done this before?"
"No, Miss Wanshel. That was the most wonderful thing I 've ever felt in my life."
"This was your first time? Oh, Bobby, I'm so happy for you, and for me too. I'm glad I was your first."
And similar expressions. Making gooey post-coital love talk with a 13 year old kid isn't easy. I hadn't come, he hadn't lasted long enough, and I needed to come really badly.
We lay in bed for a while like that, and I stroked him and filled in some of the gaps in his knowledge of the birds and the bees. I made him promise that nobody, nobody at all, would ever learn of this from his lips. I taught him how to lick my nipples the way I like, and how to touch my clitoris, and eventually his dick started getting hard for the third time.
This time I had him lie on his back, and I lowered my- self onto his big pussy-pleaser. I went to work riding him up and down until it began to feel really, really nice down there, and we traded places and he got on top of me and started fucking me deep and hard. I wrapped my legs around him so he could get maximum penetration, and he pounded me like a bull for 10 minutes without stopping. I gasped hard as I felt my orgasm coming on. I came like crazy, moaning and bucking and clutching him hard, and he kept fucking me. I came again. I was riding a plateau that felt really wonderful and and he kept pounding and I never wanted it to stop. Finally it did, as he came inside me with another big wet gush and and collapsed on my bosom, panting.
I was dazed. I hadn't felt that way, screwing in bed, for a long time. Not since the first time a big-dicked man made me come really hard when I was a girl.
A half-hour later we did it again, doggie-style, and he lasted even longer. It was quite good, and I had to bite the pillow to keep from crying out loud when I came. I told Bobby that he was a stud and that I was planning to keep him. (And, reader, I did.)
That was in May, and that's the way things stand today. He's made progress since then and doesn't come in my hand after thirty seconds. We don't talk about much, we don't have any common interests, and I'm almost old enough to be his mother (more than old enough, Cathy snorts). He comes over once a week, fucks my brains out, and complains that I don't let him come over every night. I have had by actual count 132 orgasms since we started screwing; on one memorable occasion eight times in one night (a new all-time record for me). I loaned him my Jimi Hendrix boxed set, which he has yet to return. Sometimes we turn on the TV and watch Star Trek between fucks. I think I'm in love.