I think we've all been there. As we hit puberty, becoming aware of the female body for the first time, we're in high school. As such, our burgeoning sexuality is focused on two primary groups; girls around our own age, and if we're lucky, the more-developed physiques of our female teachers. I had one who was, in a word, smoking. She was a genuine knockout, tall and slim with lustrous tresses. Although I prefer more top-heavy women, her bust was in proportion to the rest of her perfect figure. As wonderful as she was, she had one failing; she'd never really mastered the art of applying make-up, her face always slightly comically covered in too-heavy blush, her eyelashes caked in mascara that clumped them together, beads of solidified kohl evident to the close observer. I, of course, observed her most closely.
She was my first fantasy. I crafted an infinite series of scenarios, wherein I would seduce her- or, more often, be seduced by the more experienced woman. When I finished high school, my greatest regret was not that I would be moving on from my friends, but that I would never be able to again leer over the object of my affections. Still, I'd managed to weasel my way into being her favourite student; always eager to help out and performing above expectations in the assessments she oversaw. I parlayed that into a clinch on my last day at school, cozing up to her briefly and letting one hand wander as far down her back as I could with a crowd around me.
That was the last time I saw her. Until today, that is. Whilst waiting in line at a coffee shop, it occurred to me that the woman in front of me was hauntingly familiar. When she gave her order, I was able to place her; the backside I'd been covertly appreciating was the one attached to the frame I still occasionally fantasised about. When all other sexual daydreams failed to get me ready for action, she always won through.
As she moved across to wait for her order, I hurriedly supplied the barista with my own, moving to intercept her. I smiled at her, knowing that I was much different now to the last time she had seen me; I had grown to full height, towering over her. My layers of puppy fat had been stripped away in the past decade. She smiled back at me, hesitant, wary of the stranger who was grinning at her like a Jack-o-lantern. I got as far as "Missus Sh-" before her eyes lit up in a flash of recognition. "John!"
She beamed at me. "And call me Louise. It's Miss, now, any way." Even though my heart thudded as I hoped I might be able to bring my fantasies to life, I made a sympathetic face. "I'm sorry to hear that." She snorted. "Yeah, well. It was for the best. But what about you?"
We moved off together, settling into a booth and chatting as we drank down our caffeine hit. She told me how she'd changed schools, finding a job closer to her new home in an apartment complex. We exchanged the fates of various students and other teachers we used to know, moving on to what I had been up to after school. When I eventually looked at the time, I was surprised to learn that more than two hours had slipped by in easy conversation. Louise's eyes bugged out when I let her in on that, and she began to make her excuses to leave, telling me that she had to catch a once-hourly bus back home.
I walked with her to the bus stop, but as we drew close we saw the bus was preparing to leave. She called a light "goodbye!" over her shoulder, breaking into a sprint. Unfortunately, pebbled concrete and high heels rarely mix well, and she turned her ankle, collapsing with a heavy thud and a cry of pain. I rushed to her aid, and as I helped her to her feet, the bus drove off. She swore under her breath, unimpressed with her ill fortune.
Leaning on me for support, she hobbled to a bench. I knelt to examine her injury, enjoying the opportunity to hold her warm calf. I had hopes of being able to bandage her sprain, giving me more time to covertly fondle her leg, but unfortunately for me there was no bruising. I realised she had merely turned her ankle rather than sprained it, and after a few moment's rest, she was able to walk, albeit with a slight limp. Still, she had missed her bus, offering me one last chance to while away a few more minutes in the pleasure of her company.
I managed to cajole her into accepting a lift, as well as yielding up her shopping bags. When we reached my car, I sprung the boot and stowed her gear before circling around to the passenger's door, holding it open whilst she got in. As I went to close the door, I noticed that her dress was still hanging outside, sure to be caught in the door when it slammed shut. I swooped down to tuck it inside the car- and so did she. Our heads clashed together, and we came away rubbing at what was sure to bruise, wincing in shared pain. She treated me to a lopsided smile, and I closed the door fast.
Following her directions, we soon arrived at her apartment complex. I deliberately parked slightly too far from the security pad, on the theory that she would have to get in and out, affording me an opportunity to perve at her dainty form. Instead, I received a grander prize; she wound the window down, kneeled in her seat, and leaned out to enter her PIN. Hiding my gaze behind my mirrored sunglasses, I drank in the sight of her shapely backside, panty-lines thrown into visible relief as the dress was smoothed tight over her. As she got back into place, the dress rode up, revealing one long, perfect leg.
I was all but salivating at the sight; Louise, however, blushed beet red, acutely embarrassed. I protected her modesty, pretending not to notice, and pulled up outside her four-unit multiplex. Killing the engine, I opened my door, using my body to shield me as I thumbed the locking system, trapping her inside while she waited for me to open her door. As she rose, gracefully, from her seat she took my outstretched hand and steadied herself. I popped the boot and retrieved her belongings.
We stood there, awkwardly, before she asked me if I'd "like to come up for a cup of tea, or something." Given the choice I'd prefer my "or something," but it didn't look terribly likely, so I settled for tea. The awkwardness continued over that drink, her uncomfortable with a man in her new home after what had sounded like a painful divorce, me distracted by my yearning for the gorgeous woman across the table from me.
I rose, gathered the plates, and headed into the kitchen, intending to stack them in the sink. Louise brushed past me, however, turning on the water and starting to wash them up. I hovered, nervously. Now or never, boy. I wrestled with what I wanted, eventually giving in to over a decade of lust. I crept up behind her, cupping her breasts in my hands and pulling her close, so that she could feel my tumescence against her backside. She stiffened, shocked by my directness.
"John, what are you- you can't- you..." she sputtered, breaking off as I sought out her hardening nipples. If she asks me to stop, I thought, I will. I want her, but I won't do that to her. "What are you doing?"