I was 18 when i met my boyfriend who was 18 too. We both loved each other very much more than our lives. Abhi(boy) didnt kissed me even once also in two year of our love, we just use to talk and chat in phones. Finally one day abhi asked "Do you know why they kiss when they get married?", to me(anu). I didnt know because i was that girl who had never kissed before to anyone and off course it was my first love. Abhi told me that by kissing their feeling become strong and even their love too. He finally asked he wanted to kiss me. I said "OK" with hesitation. That was saturday our college was ha... Continue»
It was now towards the end of the school year. My gymn teacher Miss Crawford asked me if I want to help her coach a girl's soft ball team. Since I harboured a little crush on her I immediately said yes. The thought of spending time with her made me dizzy. It became the primary fantasy while I masturbated in the bath tub, while my older b*****r Nick pounded on the door demanding that I stop hogging the bathroom. Since I shared a room with my younger s****r Alicia I had no real privacy. Under the soapy water I fingered my pussy and pretended that it was Miss Crawford. I had just discovered my clitoris so this prolonged my stays in the bathroom eeven longer now.
Miss Crawford seemed like any other girls gymn teacher that you might meet in any town in any school in any city. She was a short stout woman in her mid thirties with blond hair that was trimmed botishly short. She was short, perhaps five feet five inches tall, with thick, strong arms and legs. Her whole personality was strikingly mannish, even her walk gave the impression that her gymn shorts contained more than just a vagina. She was very flat-chested and whenever she wore bulky sweaters she appeared breastless--even more manish.
Rather than diminish my affection , all these characteristics only enhanced and enflammed my passion for her. These were the days before the internet so images of lesbian sex were only obtained through the phony, posed images I found in my b*****r's porno magazines that he kept stashed under his mattress. None of them looked either Miss Crawford or I.
I was by no means popular in school. I am a redhead with a constellation of freckles. Unitl I was almost sixteen I was virtually breastless. I cringed at thought of having to shower in front of these girls who were tall, blond, and with tits you could use as a floatation device. I looked scornfully at my reflection. Perhaps that is why I fell for Miss Crawford. We seemed to be feathers of the same ugly duckling.
I helped Miss Crawford, who allowed me to call her Rachel when not in school, with the team, luging around equpment and assisting during practises. I was growing more and more fond of being with her. Whenever she touched my shoulder or patted my ass in a playful manner I felt these electrified needles pricking my skin.
She even started invading my dreams. My s****r told me on several occasions I called out her name in my sl**p. I didn't even dare record these thougfhts in my diary for fear of my b*****r or perhaps one of my parents should find it and read it. What would they think of me? Perhaps they would blame Rachel for "seducing" me. I couldn't take that chance and kept all those thoughts locked up in my mind. My masturbation bacame daily, several times a day actually. In the morning before my s****r woke up I masturbated under the bed sheets. I felt relaxed for a good portion of the day at least.
One afternoon after practise and all the girls had been picked up by their parents I went into Rachel's office. The door was partially open so I went on inside. In the office just out of sight to anyone there is a private shower just for her use. I heard he water running and I should have turned back out and waited for her. I had to see her naked. Under my tiny breast my heart beat furiously. I stood there and tried to see her through the thick plastic curtain but the image behind it was distorted. I was about turn around and leave when the curtain ripped back on its rob and in the narrow tiled stall I the damp body of Rachel Crawford.
"Can you hand me that towel," she said as she stepped forward, dripping wet and beautiful to me.
I reached for the heavy white cloth towel and headed it to her. As she dried her hair it afforded me the opportunity to absord more details of her body. Most notably was the fact that she had the thickest pubic hair I'd eever seen. It was a darker shade of blond than what was on her head. She continued to talk and dry herself off simulataneously. I was frozen and aware that I was staring....no, gawking at her. She smiled at me and started to dress herself.
Once the soft league wrapped up its season Rachel and I went back to being student and teacher for a little longer. I felt a deep sadness wheen I graduated into high school and would never see her agaain. Over the subsequent years I had many lovers who bore a vague resemblance to Rachel Crawford. I seemed more attracted to older, very butch types, although I have dated other types as well they seem to figure largely in dating routine.
A month seldom passes with my thinking where she might be. Is she happy? I fantasize about running into her and telling her what an indirect influence she had on a shy, homely girl.
Rachel Crawford where are you?