A Sheryl Kuntz story
My first major crush was on a junior high school teacher of mine. Mr. MacPherson. We used to call him "Mr. Mac." He was hot all right-most of the girls in my classes had a crush on him.
He had thick, blond hair and a slightly brooding air. A tall, muscled man-he taught Math, English and Phys Ed. He must have just graduated from the teaching program, because he looked like he was barely out of high school himself at the time. I remember, girls would sign up for Phys Ed., hoping that they would get into his class. As for me, I wasn't much for athletics, being your classic nerd girl.
I entered a speech contest because he was the coach and felt the kind of palpable, teenage beating of the heart at our one-on-one coaching sessions. And he liked me-I knew that. But still, things remained platonic between us. I knew, at the time, that he couldn't possibly be attracted to a geek girl like me: plump and awkward, complete with glasses, braces and occasional acne breakouts. I kept my fantasies to myself and basked in the glow his attention ignited in me.
After I graduated, I still dreamed about him sometimes. I'd think of his sun-bronzed perfection and fantasize about meeting him again, just by chance.
Still, life went on, so I eventually set aside such considerations. I was what you would call a late bloomer. After high school, I began eating more nutritiously. I also discovered Yoga, and I now practiced regularly-the result being that I would get wonderful de-stressing sessions combined with flexibility and toning effects that meant I had gone from flab to fit in the years since I began practicing. Replace glasses with contacts, imagine the tight pants and skirts that go with an improved self-image and you've pretty much got me.
I also discovered a rather fun thing: my inner lips are exceptionally long, and if I don't wear underwear, then whenever I cross my legs (say, sitting down, or standing against a wall), I can masturbate simply by moving my thighs slightly against them. As the movement stimulates my clit, it makes a gradual emergence as well. Usually, a climax demands more dexterous manipulation-i.e. fingers in key areas-but the gentle rubbing never fails to stimulate me pleasantly. So, I rarely bother with underwear. And even though I have rounded breasts (firm, high Bs), I can never stand the restriction of a bra, so I usually hang loose above and below.
Not your average computer programmer, but I had certainly had my share of fun with the computer geeks (a purely affectionate term, I assure you) I worked with. They had come to regard me as a sexual goddess-and I basked in it. Some of those guys weren't half bad, but that didn't even matter. See, I have this thing about smart guys. A guy starts talking about rocket science, or Baudrillard's theories and I start getting hotter and hotter.
One day, my boss (he calls out my name at the point of ejaculation when we have sex. I love that-it really adds a personal touch to the whole experience) rushed out of his office, looking desperate.
I was sitting at my desk, legs demurely crossed, contemplating the GUI for the latest release of one of our more popular products. Aside: that is my particular specialty-kickass GUIs. And before you dismiss that as a "chick thing", think of it this way: I love all things touchy-feely. Hey, I like interfacing with users-so sue me! Just remember, if you happen to see a GUI sporting radio buttons that, when selected, look a little like hard nipples, then just think of Sheryl Kuntz, laboring away in her cube, legs crossed and smirking slightly as she taps the keyboard.
But any-ee-way... Jim, my boss, burst out of his office (visible out of the corner of my eye) and asked me if I wanted to pep talk high school kids about computer programming-tomorrow. Ted, our PR-friendly programmer who usually does this sort of thing, had gotten a sore throat and couldn't go. I said: "Sure." Education is a good thing and we need more programmers with the industry growing like it is.
So, I went. Of course, having had a very active preceding night with the head network support guy, I wasn't exactly factoring in the whole "adolescent hormones" thing when I got dressed. So, I wore my usual: short, tight skirt that rides up to just barely graze the bottom of my bumcheeks when I bend over-and of course, no underwear. On top, I had on a fitted shirt that caressed my breasts into a pair of honeydews (yum!). Bending over therefore presented a double whammy: from the front, people got major cleavage display, while at the back, another pair of curves peeked shyly out from under my skirt, with the promise of much more just out of sight. I figure: I've got the body for it; why not show it off?
Of course, as I say, I belatedly discovered that a high school isn't the best place for such a getup, though the glances from the various students made me realize how much I had changed since I had been in school. 'Really,' I reflected as I thought about it seriously, 'given the style change, the weight loss, the contacts and stuff, if my mother hadn't been in touch with me all this time, she wouldn't recognize me."
At the office, they gave me a printed schedule, with Ted's name on it. Jim had already called and explained, but they hadn't had time to print out a new copy. The sheet had the basic info I needed. Example entry:
8:45 a.m. Rm 305, Math 9.
'Good enough,' I thought. After assuring them it was fine, I walked to the first classroom where I would be presenting my spiel. I noticed the teacher glaring at me.
"I'm Mrs. Puente," she said, her tone stern as she looked me up and down.
'Up yours, Mrs. Puente,' I thought. Aloud, I simply said: "Please to meet you." The soul of discretion.
It went very badly. I doubt any of the kids heard what I was talking about-the guys were too busy staring at my cleavage and butt, while the girls were too busy being pissed off because the guys were staring.
And so the morning went. After a quick lunch, I searched for the classroom where I'd have my next presentation. I found it well before the break was over, and entered, ready to just settle down and wait.
