Charlene Has A Problem – Now It's My Problem
Some days leave a mark that doesn't fade; your feelings about what happened may change, but the memory stays with you all your life. I was hurrying home on the day I can't forget, it had been a hard day, and I was hard myself, painfully hard.
All the way home, I kept thinking about what she'd done. My face felt hot, I found it hard to breathe. Her sheer daring scared and amazed me; I felt pathetic; I could never do something that fantastic. If the school caught me and told my mom I'd be out of the school and in god knows what kind of trouble at home. If mom ever found out I'd done something like that, I don't know what she'd do – I went cold thinking about it.
The last lesson of the day had been a test, everybody silently working through this boring paper for half an hour. I was seated next to this new girl, Charlene, blonde bitch. She wasn't so good looking but she acted like a goddess, smug & superior. And, somehow, however little I liked it, it worked. She'd made a point of being rude to me since she arrived a week before. I had no idea why.
During the test she started making these silly little moaning noises, flicking glances over at me then looking away. I could only just hear her, everyone else was busy and the teacher had settled to some marking. She wrote something on a piece of scrap paper and angled it toward me. "I'm so wet!"
For a second I didn't know what she meant, then my jaw must've dropped because she smirked and the tip of her tongue peeped through her lips. She gave me this incredible slow look, and licked her lips. Then she pushed her pen off the front of our desk and looked at me. She couldn't have made it any clearer if she'd yelled, "Pick it up!"
I hesitated, then got out of my seat. As I crouched down to pick up the pen she lazily spread her knees apart, screened from the teacher by me. Her pleated skirt opened up and I couldn;t help seeing she wasn't wearing any panties. I couldn't look away; she had me. My face was maybe eighteen inches from her crotch; I could almost feel the heat coming off her. Her hand slipped down the front of her skirt and two fingers peeled her pussy lips apart. She was glistening pink. Her middle finger gave her clitoris a slow stroke.
When the teacher shouted, "Frank! What are you doing?" I thought I'd have a heart attack. For a moment I couldn't move. Charlene closed her legs – not that fast – and the teacher yelled again. My face was like a hot brick as I half straightened up, waved the pen and slid round into my seat. I didn't know you could get a hardon so fast, I didn't dare stand up straight. Charlene gazed calmly round the room, ignoring me completely, but her nipples were like rivets through her sweater. She slipped her clitoris finger into her mouth.
It was the last lesson of the day and I waited around hoping Charlene would stay behind. She didn't.
Then my mobile buzzed – a text. "Still hard?" I was stunned; how did she know my number? I saved the message then the phone buzzed again. "I'm still wet!"
I got home as fast as I could - running was impossible – and as soon as I got to my room I pulled up one of the messages and called the number. She answered on the fifth ring. "Sorry about that, I was . . . busy . . . You still hard?"
I could hardly speak. "Yes."
I heard her breathing, then, "Mmmmmmmmm. Where are you?"
"Home. In my room."
"Close the door."
"It is closed."
"Good. Now . . . I want you to do something for me. . ."
"O.K."
"Are you ready, Frank?"
