This story is re-write of my very first Literotica submission 'Cheerleader in the Darkroom.' A number of commentators said the story was unfinished. I always had longer story in mind so I've completed it.
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I attended high school in the 70's, it was the height of the disco era and I was the quintessential nerd. I played tuba in the marching band, I was in the science club, the only sport I participated in was the chess team, and as if that weren't nerdy enough I was a photographer on the high school yearbook staff.
Today, many decades later, I don't miss disco, I haven't played tuba since high school, and I rarely play chess. I still do photography, but I miss film. I miss the feel of it, the tactile sensation of loading it in a camera and snapping the back shut. I miss turning the advance lever before taking the next shot. I miss working in the darkroom, watching the images magically appear under the orange glow of the safe light. And most of all, I miss the day that I was king of the world, I was eighteen and a high school senior, the day I lost my virginity, in the darkroom to the most beautiful girl in school.
Her name was Stacy Tiernan, she was a bit older than most of us in the senior class and had turned eighteen over the summer. I am sure that every boy, and most male faculty members in my school had fantasies about her. Stacy was tall, about 5' 8" with hair that was sort of in between blond and brown. In a day when most of the girls were wearing their hair long, she wore her hair short in a style I think they called a pixie cut. Combined with big brown eyes and an ever-present smile, Stacy had a face you could stare into all day. Seated across the lab bench from her every day in Chemistry class, I often found myself doing just that, staring. Sometimes she would catch me I would see a little sparkle in her eye and a little smile.
Since Stacy was the most beautiful girl at Columbia North High School (Go Tigers!!!) she was of course, a cheerleader. In those days cheerleaders wore sweaters with the school initials, CNHS, across the chest. At the time I wouldn't have known a B-cup from a beehive, looking back now, I would say she was about C-cup. I especially loved Friday game days because the cheerleaders were required to wear their uniforms to class. I loved watching the fabric of that sweater stretched tight over what I imagined were perfect breasts. Of course, I had no idea what perfect breasts were, this was long before the days of internet porn, so my experience with breasts consisted of 'borrowing' the Playboys my big brother kept under his bed when he was away at college and reading National Geographic, don't judge ... it was the 70's.
And did I mention cheer skirts? Stacy's cheer skirt really accentuated her legs, they were very athletic looking with good muscle definition, and as I was to find out later, they were smooth and soft to the touch. The way that skirt curved over her behind never failed to make my heart skip a beat.
I know this sounds kind of corny but the sexiest thing about Stacy Tiernan was that she was actually nice. Not like some of the other cheerleaders who were stuck up and cliquish. Even though I was a nerd she often said hello to me and was never rude or mean. Since we were in math class together we sometimes compared notes on homework problems. When Stacy talked to me, it was as if I were the most important person in the whole world, she would look at me with those brown eyes and I would just melt inside.
Of course I was not delusional, it wasn't that I was somehow special, rather she treated everyone as if they were special. But the reality did not prevent me from fantasizing. Seeing those beautiful brown eyes looking at me and hanging on my every word, I imagined myself brushing a hand across her cheek. I imagined her sighing and leaning in to my touch as I gathered up the courage to kiss her. My devotion to, my reverence for Stacy was so strong I could hardly imagine doing anything more than kissing her. Those breasts were too perfect, those legs too enticing, that derriere too divine, to even imagine being handled by a mere mortal like me.
At football games, during one of our marching sets, Stacy and another cheerleader would do a series of handsprings in front of the tuba section. It always seemed like she would do it in slow motion. How did I ever play my part up to tempo? Even today I can picture her running, breasts bouncing with every stride, before placing her hands on the grass for the first handspring. As she went through the air, it seemed I could see her leg muscles flex and her cheerleader panties first come into view then disappear with each handspring.
In many of these stories about nerdy guys and hot girls, the nerd is really some sort of Adonis who just needs a change of wardrobe and a trip to the barber to come out of his shell. The obligatory narrative describes him as having a 'six-pack' or maybe a nine-inch penis. Well, none of those things describe me. The closest I ever came to a six-pack was when my older brother would sneak me a can of beer. As for my penis, well let's just say that in my case, you can judge a book by its cover. My penis is not tiny just, based on what I had seen in the locker room, depressingly average.
So, how did I end up living the dream of every guy at CNHS? It started with the yearbook. Stacy was the yearbook editor and I was the head photographer. Our advisor Mr. Maxwell suggested that Stacy learn more about photography to help in the design of the yearbook. So, she signed up for Mr. Maxwell's Introduction to Photography class. This wasn't a regular class, technically it was independent study and students took it during their study hall or after school. In reality, I had the run of the darkroom and Mr. Max, as we called him, let me do most of the teaching, as he was busy with the rest of his schedule.
So, that's how I found myself, one Friday afternoon during fifth period, alone in the darkroom with the girl of my dreams. Our school darkroom was rather large; it used to be a storage area for the theater before they built the new auditorium. It had a large main room with enlargers, chemicals, sinks, drying racks for prints, and a work table for matting and framing. It also had something that was a real luxury, a film loading room. Most darkrooms have special red or orange safelights that can be used when making and developing prints. But film is much more light sensitive, it needs total darkness or it will be ruined. The film loading room was separate from the rest of the darkroom and sealed off with double doors to guarantee that it was light proof.
That Friday, I was in the film loading room, showing Stacy how to remove film from the little 35mm canisters and put it on a reel and into a developing can. We had been practicing with some old, exposed film and it was time to try it for real. Stacy had a roll of film that she had taken some people shots on and it was time to try and load it in the dark. I turned off the light and the room was pitch black. I tried to remind her, in a soothing voice, of the steps she needed to carry out in order. She deftly loaded the film and handed me the developing can to verify that it was properly sealed. I felt around the edges and it seemed good to me.
That's when it happened. With all the film safely loaded, I went to turn on the light. As I reached out in the dark, my hand found itself not on the light switch, but holding one of those perfect breasts! I am sure it lasted no more than a second, but I could hear Stacy suck in a breath. I could feel the material of that sweater that had filled my fantasies for so long. I marveled at how round and firm it was. But, I quickly came to my senses. I was mortified! I stumbled out an apology. I must have said I'm sorry seven or eight times. When I finally got the lights turned on, Stacy looked a little flushed, but she smiled at me and said, "It's OK, it was just an accident, right?"
"Of course," I said, "I didn't mean to ..."
Stacy cut me off with a cute little smile and a giggle and said, "That's OK."
