Chapter 12

Days are short, and there are a lot of hot women out there to pleasure. I was spending more and more time revisiting some of my earlier conquests, but I was still adding to my collection. I had started keeping pictures of all the women I dallied with, courtesy of the Polaroid camera Tandy had given me. I got Mom to buy me a big photo album, and I put the pictures there. I kept a few pictures of the women I fucked once -- a shot of them undressing, a nude or two, sometimes a picture of them masturbating for the camera. With Janet and Mary I did whole photo shoots. I took pictures of Mary in all her different lingerie sets, posed in different positions, in different rooms, clothed, naked, smiling demurely or writhing in the throes of orgasm. I did the same with Janet, and also took pictures of her and Stephanie together, kissing, cuddling, groping each other, eating each other out. On the relatively rare nights when I had no sexual companion, I would flip through the album and remember.

My escapade in the gym had reminded me of another woman I was interested in: my physical education teacher, Mrs. Richards. While she didn't have an especially pretty face, and she was not especially curvaceous, she could have been used as the definition of "hardbody." I have no idea how much she worked out, but she had more stamina than our cross-country team and better muscle definition than our football players. Rumor had it that during vacations she participated in triathlon competitions. I could easily believe it.

I dropped by the gym after school, and knocked on the door of the P.E. office. Mrs. Richards's voice called "Come in!"

The office was reasonably large, but crammed with sporting equipment of all kinds. Mrs. Richards was sitting at the small desk, going through some paperwork, while another gym teacher, Mr. Harold, was putting stuff away on shelves.

"Hey, John," Mr. Harold said amiably. "What's up?"

Mr. Harold was a popular teacher, largely because he was such a nice guy. I liked him myself. However, at the moment three was definitely a crowd.

"Not much," I told him. "Why don't you go do a few laps on the track? I'd like to spend some time alone with Mrs. Richards."

"Sounds like a good idea," Mr. Harold agreed. "I'll see you later, Shirley."

"Bye, Paul!" she said without looking up. Shirley. I'd never even known her first name.

Mr. Harold left, and I quickly sent out a "keep away" order to maintain our privacy. Shirley looked around and asked me, "So, what's on your mind, John?"

"Could you turn around and look at me?" I requested. Shirley swiveled her chair around obediently. It was tough to see her figure through the loose sweats that she wore, but I thought I could see the hint of a curve. I hadn't had sex all day, and I wasn't really in the mood to play around.

"I came here to fuck you," I said. "Why don't you stand up and take your clothes off? I'd like to see you naked."

It had been a while since I'd tried such a direct approach, and the resistance was much stronger than usual; but my will overcame it almost effortlessly. Shirley stood up and pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a modest bosom clad in a sports bra. She kicked off her shoes, then pulled down her sweatpants and stepped out of them. Her panties were plain cotton; she tugged them off, then pulled her bra off over her head and dropped it. Awkwardly she removed her socks as well, and stood totally naked. Her limbs were thin, but visibly muscular; her small breasts were tipped with surprisingly dark nipples, erect from the cool air in the office. Her mouth was a bit too wide for my taste, and her nose too broad, and her dark brown hair was very short -- little more than a buzz cut. But in her obvious fitness she an attraction of her own. I admired her, the way one admires the beauty of a racehorse or a greyhound. And I wanted her.

"You're making me do this, somehow, aren't you?" she asked me calmly.

I was intrigued. Usually when I seized control of someone like this, they didn't realize (at least at first) that the impulses they acted on were not their own. "What makes you say that?" I asked her.

"I wouldn't ordinarily do this with a student," Shirley said. "And... not with a man."

I don't know why that surprised me so much, but it did. "You're a lesbian?" I said.

"Yes," she admitted. "Did you hypnotize me, or drug me, or something?"

"Not exactly," I said evasively. "But you're under my control. You'll do whatever I tell you to."

"I realize that," Shirley said. "I just don't know why."

A thought suddenly occurred to me. "Why are you *Mrs.* Richards?"

"Richards was my ex-husband's name," she said. "We got divorced when I discovered that I was really interested in women."

I'd recently had some experiences with bisexuality, but I had never encountered pure lesbianism before. "You're not interested in men at all?" I asked her.