I guess it was all Christine’s fault. Or rather, I suppose I have her to thank. Christine was a very rebellious girl in my school, with long black hair, overdeveloped breasts for a girl her age and an attitude that made the teachers wince whenever she even walked by. The boys all lusted after her, some secretly, some overtly, and she flirted with all the male teachers, though probably just to make them uncomfortable. The girls queued up to be her friend, not least because if you weren’t Christine’s friend she did her best to make your life a misery, and her best was pretty good.
I got in the way of some of Christine’s shots from time to time, but the truth was that I wasn’t interesting enough at school to even be bullied. I was average height, moderately decent looking (I can say with some modesty that I was a bit of a late bloomer), reasonably good at most subjects, but not enough to be seen as geeky. I was okay at sports, but not fabulous. I was just the invisible girl, wandering through life with nothing in particular to mark her out one way or the other.
I envied Christine her daring, and the boys. The more outrageous she became, the more desperately I wanted to be her. To top her, in fact. I had fantasies where I made her watch while I necked with her boyfriend, and where she watched as the teachers tried to chat me up. My dream life was even more vivid, bringing up my true subconscious desires, as together she and I raped the biology teacher, he screaming out in ecstasy as Christine patiently explained the intricacies of the g-spot to us.
His penis, I remember seemed enormous, but heavenly, moving inside me, and I also remember how I awoke, shrieking with pleasure, to my mother asking if I was okay, if I had had a bad dream.
No. No, not bad at all, thank you.
The next day I was deeply aroused. I had only ever been kissed once, and I had later learnt that he had done it on a bet. My own brother, who lived mainly these days with our estranged father, was the boy I knew best, and he had always seemed like a total waste of space to me. All in all I had a very low opinion of men, so no particular desire for a boyfriend of my own. But I did want that feeling back inside me again, soon. And this time for real.
I watched the teacher’s crotch through our next biology lesson. It didn’t look nearly as impressive as it had the night before, but maybe my subconscious had spotted something I hadn’t. In any case, I had hatched a plan.
The biology teacher ran a chess club on Thursday nights, straight after this lesson. I would go along, see if I could muster the courage to flirt a little. Hell, I’d watched Christine do it often enough. It wasn’t even as if, if anything came of it, it would actually be illegal or anything, we would both be consenting adults (though myself only just). It was just a dry run, I thought to myself, ironically enough, with my juices running down my legs in anticipation so much that I had to stop off to clean myself up on the way.