I was sixteen, an awkward teenager that wanted to do the things that any male teenager would want to do, but shy and nervous around women. I was not too bad looking, being tall, blondish, and evenly featured. But I suppose I was a bit of a geek, being scientific- minded and wedded to my schoolbooks. I'd also been a bit socially handicapped by the fact my father's job had us move to a new town every year or so, which is not really enough time for a teenager to break into any really cool social circles that are going on. The people worth knowing already have long-time friends, and the people who want to know you are themselves mainly geeks.
This time my father was based at a University town, and we lived on campus. This gave us access to various facilities, like a gym and swimming pool. On Sunday afternoons my brother, sister and me would go there to swim and just lay about in the sunshine. After a while we got to know who were the regulars at the pool, though being a bit reserved we did not do more than just say "Hi!" and "Bye!" to them.
One regular was a lady we knew only as Mrs Burrows. She was a high school physics teacher, married to one of the University staff. My sister took a dislike to her, because she seemed to fancy herself and flaunt herself a bit. It was reputed that she'd been having an affair with another married member of faculty staff, and that her husband either didn't know or didn't care as he was pretty absorbed in his work.
Appearance-wise, Mrs Burrows was not one to really stand out in a crowd, despite her apparently high opinion of herself. She was probably in her early forties, fairly trim - all that swimming, I guess - though a bit of cellulite here and there, and wide hips with legs maybe a tad short for her body. Her face was plain, with eyes a bit closer together than the average, and nose a bit long. But at the pool she liked to dress in a mini bikini to show off her best assets. These were her pointy breasts, and a broad, nicely- rounded backside that she liked to keep stuck out behind her. In my virginal condition I found the sight of her scantily clad figure fairly stimulating, and she became the object of a few of my masturbatory fantasies.
There was another regular at the pool, in his mid-twenties, who bore an uncanny resemblance to popular images of the Greek God Adonis. Blond, well muscled, but unselfconsious about it, and a nice guy. It was obvious that Mrs Burrows had a crush on him. My moralistic sister would make comments under her breath, like "Here he comes. Look at her! Strutting like a peacock!". And it was true. She would always strike some kind of a pose as he approached, while pretending not to notice him. When he said "Hi" she would go "Oh, HUL-LO!!!" and animated conversation would ensue. He was just being polite to her, but you got the impression that she would have dropped her knickers for him in a flash.
Meanwhile I was struggling with the Physics syllabus at my high school, though I was doing well in other subjects like Biology. Dad had this idea that I should get some private tuition to boost my grades, and it so happened he had run into someone the other day who was qualified in the field and had time on her hands. You guessed it, Mrs Burrows!
I was despatched to her house early one evening for the first lesson, and knocked on the door. She was home by herself, as her husband was working late. A common occurrence, I would later find out. We spread my books out onto her dining room table.
"Thanks Mrs Burrows, I appreciate you taking the time to help me".
"Jill! Call me Jill. Now, what topics are bothering you the most?".
I started off explaining how I was okay on formulae for motion in a straight line, but circular motion was a problem. I showed her the pages that were bothering me.
She was pretty patient with me, and a good teacher. She would take me back to the very basics and build her explanations from there, and had the knack of not making you feel stupid just because you didn't know things right away. I was starting to get my head around that topic, however I was all the while being distracted.
She was dressed just for being around the house, with an Asian- style wrap around skirt ("sarong", I believe they are called) and a sleeveless cotton T-shirt, with no bra. This was pretty obvious - her pointy breasts jutted out against the T-shirt material like ice-cream cones. This in itself was distracting, but things got worse for me when she leaned forward on the table to write out equations for me. Then, sitting back to see what she was writing, I could see in through the armhole of her shirt to her armpit, and the side of her breast. I could see its swelling shape clearly, though the angle was wrong for seeing anything of the nipple.
My line of questioning was changing, in a way that got her writing out more and more stuff for me, just so I could sit back and pretend I was looking and absorbing what she was writing. But I was captivated by the sight of her lower breast in profile, as it jiggled in time to her writing. Being an inexperienced lad, I was feeling hot blood flushing my face and ears every time I got a good look, and my knees were trembling a bit with my excitement at seeing something that so far I could only imagine about.
Anyway, I finished that lesson without betraying the fact that I had been sneaking peeks at her, and hoped she would put my distracted air down to difficulty with the course material we had been studying.
That night in bed I furiously beat my meat with the image of that breast profile fixed firmly in my mind, and it didn't take me long to reach a satisfying but messy climax.
Next week when I went, she had just finished showering and was in a flannel housecoat, which wrapped about her and was tied by a belt of matching material about her middle. She didn't bother changing, so we spread our books as before and started on a new topic. Her housecoat was prone to gaping, being only held by the belt at her waist. Fortunately her style of teaching today involved more talk from her and just listening from me, as she demonstrated some new concepts by writing them out on paper and explaining them to me. I just had to go "Mmmm, mmmmm" and sound intelligent, which wasn't easy as this time I could see right down the neckline of her house coat. Since she was leaning forward a lot to write things, the housecoat would fall away from her chest. As she adjusted her posture in the chair I was suddenly able to see an entire breast and most of her midriff too. Well, my knees started knocking, and I was sure she would notice me trembling. Her breast hung like a pointed cone and I could see all of it, even the nipple. It was puffy, with the entire areola raised up from her breast to make it very prominent. A truly delectable sight.
I tore my gaze back to the page in front of her, as I was being required to pay attention to the derivation of an equation she had written. My eyes had perhaps lingered too long on her cheeky little breast, as she was now regarding me with a faint smile and a bit of a twinkle in her eye. Had I been busted? If I had then she made no mention of it, and for the rest of the lesson I got repeated glimpses of that breast as it dangled from her forward- leaning torso.
That night I jacked off not once, but twice, leaving my dick sore afterwards. I couldn't get the thought of this, real breasts on a real woman, out of my mind.
For the next lesson, Jill was dressed to thrill. High heels. A short black skirt that stopped halfway down her thighs. A red silk blouse with, you guessed right again, no bra. It was held together starting from its third button, which showed enough bare chest to demonstrate that there was no bra. If confirmation were needed of that, her nipples showed clearly as swellings under the fabric.
"You're looking nice tonight, Mrs Burrows. Do you have plans for later?"
"Stop calling me Mrs Burrows, it's Jill. Yes, we have a faculty function to attend right after this, but don't worry, there's time for you to have a full lesson. I'm still waiting for Harold to get ready".
The lesson passed okay, not as much flesh to glimpse this time though the blouse did not leave much to the imagination. It would not have been so bad if her breasts sagged down or laid flat on her chest, but they were just so damned pointy! Though not large, they stuck straight out, and you could not help noticing them.
We finished the lesson, and she promised to drop me home in their car on their way to the function. But Harold was still not ready. He would pop in every so often, a tall but stooped man, balding and with boffin-ish glasses, to ask "Where's my tie? Where's my socks? Where's my cuff links?".
Meanwhile Jill moved to a sofa and waved me to an armchair opposite her. Up till now things between us had been strictly schoolwork, but to kill the time waiting she started chatting to me and asking questions. Like, have you made many friends yet? Are you playing any sports at school? Have you met any charming young ladies? No? A good-looking guy like you? I was embarrased at the last question, and not really used to being asked this kind of stuff by any woman other than my own mother.
It was hard to answer properly anyway, because I was again being distracted. She was reclining back into the sofa, with her legs crossed. This kept her decent, but I could still see a lot of thigh. Tanned, from her pool visits, and a little dimpled in her softer, inner parts.
She had now mercifully steered away from my lovelife ( or lack of) and onto my siblings (How many? How old? etc), but... then she uncrossed her legs. Initially she'd kept her knees well together as if held by velcro patches, but whenever her husband came into the room with another "Where's my such and such?" she would turn her body to answer and her legs would be parted. Sitting opposite, with an electric jolt I realised I was looking straight up her skirt to her crutch. Couldn't really see much with her thighs still that close together, but there was a black triangle outlined at the centre junction of those pale limbs. I took my eyes away, only to see her looking directly at me. This time I really had been busted! She MUST have known what I was looking at!
Didn't seem to bother her though, because she maintained an inscrutable smile and kept on chatting away until Harold arrived resplendent in his evening attire. For an organisational disaster area like him, he managed to scrub up well. Since she'd already scrubbed up long before, we could now go to their car.
That night, I ended up with blisters on my blisters. I'd seen her "pussy"! (as I'd heard other boys crudely put it). Well, not really, I actually only saw her panties, but they were small and sexy and a far cry from the utilitarian items that cropped up on our family clothesline.
What's more, she'd SEEN that I'd seen her pussy, and didn't seem to mind! In fact, she seemed to encourage it. My mother and sister were both quite prudish - I had NEVER seen any of my sister's bits and she would have freaked if I did. Obviously there was more spice and variety to womanhood than it had ever been my business to know about.
And equally obviously, my virginal imagination started to fantasize about how future physics lessons might develop. Like, who might make the first move? In my fantasies, it was I who pulled her close and crushed my lips to hers. But the reality was different - I was too inexperienced to judge where was that line that shouldn't be crossed, and my inclination was to stay well clear rather than risk any major transgressions.
Next lesson she was welcoming, and gave no sign that she'd caught me gazing at her crotch the time before. She was in a casual mood, and had a glass of red wine in her hand when the door opened. I wasn't going to get much glimpses of naked flesh though, because she was dressed modestly for a change, in large t-shirt and long beach shorts.
Sitting beside me at the table with my books, she still managed to be pretty damn provocative and as distracting as ever. Not by flashing me peeks of herself this time, but rather through unwitting physical contact. To point out something on the page, she'd lay her arm over mine and leave it touching for a tad longer than was really necessary. She'd lean close to see what I was writing, her shoulder brushing against my arm.
"Oh, how rude of me!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I haven't offered you a glass of wine!"
"Uh, that's okay Mrs Burrows" I said, being almost totally unused to alcohol.
But she'd already bustled off to fetch the opened bottle and a second glass. I sipped it a little as she sat beside me again, seeming closer than ever. Her thigh bumped against my leg, and it was like an electric shock that made me pull away. She pointed to my latest series of equations, explaining how to manipulate the formulae, with her arm resting upon mine. She was definitely moving into my "personal space". I was extremely conscious of her womanliness, and her very nearness caused me to get an erection that simply would not go away. I was jittery, like a cat on a hot tin roof, and her leg pressing this time firmly against mine did nothing to reduce the twitching of my cock.
She poured herself another wine and topped up my glass, which finished off the bottle. Since I'd only supped a half-glass by this time, it meant that she'd single-handedly accounted for the rest of it.
"There's another one on the kitchen bench. Could you be a dear and open it for me? I'm not good with corkscrews, I'm afraid".
I went for this damsel-in-distress routine only too eagerly, and got up, conscious that my dick was making a tight little tent in my shorts. But after rummaging around her tiny kitchen for a moment I was unable to locate the corkscrew. I told her so, and she came to look for it. She squeezed past me into the kitchen, and somehow contrived to have her hip brush firmly against the front of my pants, right against my erection. I pulled away, but it was too late to conceal it any longer.
She reacted with "Gosh!", then turned and saw me blushing hot. Her voice all innocence, but with a smug smile, she asked "Is that a canoe in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?.
I was too green to know just what a cliché this was, so said nothing. It was a rhetorical question anyway, and she answered it herself by putting out her hand, grasping the pole in my pants between thumb and forefinger. I nearly leapt out of my skin!