Copyright 2000, 2002 by E. Z. Riter.
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Patty McRae sat beside me in history class. I was in love with her. For fifty minutes each day, I'd watch her out of the corner of my eye. I'd see the profile of her beautiful face, watch the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, see the sunlight halo her golden hair.
I wanted to touch her, to feel the smooth softness of her pale skin. I ached to have her look at me with those twinkling soft blue eyes. I wanted her to walk toward me with that inviting, sexy sway, the way she walked toward her boyfriend, Butch.
I might as well've been a prisoner in Albania. When you're a sophomore geek, the high school goddess dating the senior star of the football team doesn't pay any attention to you, except to make your life more miserable.
"Henry, I dropped my pencil. Could you pick it up for me?" she'd whisper. She'd be partially turned to face me. Her face would be pleading. Somehow another button was undone on her blouse. I'd feel my palsy return with its accompanying red heat as I struggled to reach her pencil that was closer to her than to me.
Then something happened one day, as if the gods on high, drained by their laughter at the poor mortal suffering mightily below, deigned to take pity on him. It didn't appear that way at first, for it began as the cruelest blow a teen-aged virgin can endure.
"Henry Collingsworth, are you paying attention?"
"Yes, Miss Armbuster."
"I don't think you were. Come up here and finish explaining what I was talking about."
'No, Miss Armbuster. God, please, no. Not now,' I thought.
"Now, Miss Armbuster?"
"Yes, Henry. Now! Or do you want to go to the principal?"
'Thank you, God, for making it go away. I couldn't stand the embarrassment,' I thought.
I walked in front of Miss Armbuster's desk and turned toward the thirty some faces in our class. It was a short walk because I sat in the front row. The walk to the gas chamber is a short walk, too, and just as deadly. Most of my class mates stared at me with bored disinterest.
However, Patty acted interested. She'd slipped down in her chair with her ass hanging on the front edge. Her face was devilish as her legs slowly opened... and opened.
'Oh, no. Don't get hard again.'
"Go ahead, Henry," Miss Armbuster said testily.
"Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth president of the United States," I began.
'Is that my voice? How am I talking about Lincoln when Patty's legs are... Patty, don't do that!'
She'd closed her legs and raised her skirt high on her thighs. She slowly opened her legs again.
'Oh, holy shit! I can see her panties! No! God, make it go away. I'll do anything. I'll never look at a girl or masturbate or hit my sister. I'll promise anything you want. I can't think about Patty. I've got to talk about Lincoln.'
The class burst into laughter.
"Henry Collingsworth, do you know what you just said?"
"No, Miss Armbuster. I have no idea."
"Go to the principal. Tell him what you said. Go, Henry! I've lost my patience with you!"
'I can't walk. Not with this. They can see it anyway, but walking will draw attention to it.'
Stiff and humped over, I trudged from the room. The last thing I remember before I turned toward the door was Patty's face. I remembered that look even as the principal chewed me out and sent me to detention.
I still didn't know what I'd said that got that Miss Armbuster so pissed off. All I could remember was Patty's bare legs and hot pink panties and a raging hard on I couldn't hide from sixty prying eyes. I knew they all could see it. I knew they all were laughing at me.
I was unbelievably sorry Miss Armbuster was angry. She was my best teacher and worked very hard for us. She was also my youngest teacher and almost as attractive as Patty.
Saturday morning, I was laying on my bed trying to decide if I should join the Foreign Legion or jump a passing freight train when my mother yelled at me, "Henry, the phone's for you."
When I answered, I heard, "Henry? This is Patty McRae." My heart stopped and my cock leapt. Damn, that's what caused all my embarrassment.
"Uh, hi, Patty."
"Do you have a way to get to my house?"
"My bike," I answered. Sweat poured off me and I started to shake.
"Listen closely, Henry," she said.
.... There is more of this story ...