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Miss Foster



Miss Foster was my home room teacher in the seventh grade, and she
also taught English.  She was twenty seven years old and was
unmarried, although I'm sure that she had received many proposals,
because she was slender and beautiful.  She had dark hair, and at
school she always dressed conservatively.  Still, one could see her
bare calves and lower arms, which were so perfectly shaped that one
could imagine, as I did, that she was perfect all over.  She had
modest breasts, and when she wore a jacket over her blouse, one could
not detect any sign of them.  Her face was so pretty, so lovely, yet
one could discern strength in it.  She knew what teaching was all
about, and she was devoted to her job, her profession.  Miss Foster
did not tolerate any disorder or horse play in her classroom.  Usually
her stern demeanor was sufficient to maintain order.  But when a
situation got out of hand, she could be subtly, yet effectively
punishing.  Once, when I repeatedly disrupted the class with stupid
observations about what we were studying, Mis Forster came over to me,
placed her hand on my head and told me gently to calm down and to
behave.  What my classmates didn't know was that she pulled on my hair
with her fingers and caused me a great deal of pain.

When I was half way through the seventh grade, I masturbated for the
first time.  I was then twelve, going on thirteen.  We all remember
that first time.  For me it was unintended.  I lay in the bathtub and
played with my cock, soaping it and pulling on it with my fingers.  It
felt so good doing that.  I continued until my little pecker erupted
with a sting and enormous pleasure.  I cried out in surprise, which
caused my mom to bang on the bathroom door and inquire if there were a
problem.  I yelled that I had burned myself with the hot water.  I
knew about jacking off.  Half of the guys in my class were doing it
and talking about it.  I sat in the tepid water and looked at the
white globules of my semen floating in front of me.  I washed out the
tub after the bath, destroying any evidence of my sin.

I was a paper boy, and every Thursday morning, before school, I
delivered 58 papers in my neighborhood.  Miss Foster was one of my
customers.  I developed  such a crush on her, especially after I had
become sexually active.  One Thursday morning I went up onto her porch
to place the paper behind the storm door, as she had insisted that I
do.  I peeked through the window and saw her descending the staircase
clad in just her bra and panties.  She was, indeed, perfect all over.
I sprung a stiffie immediately, and I pulled myself away from the
window with the greatest reluctance.  Every Thursday morning after
that I peeked through her window, but I didn't see her again.

In class I came to  stare at Miss Foster, smug in my knowledge of what
was beneath her skirt and blouse.  When I masturbated, I imagined her
rubbing her naked body against mine.  I became obsessed with the
woman.

I was a pretty boy with a hairless body that was just developing.  I
know that now, decades later, but then I was not so aware of my
beauty, although I knew that I was attractive.  The skittish girls in
my class did not interest me.  I wanted a woman, Miss Foster, to teach
me all about sex.  I hadn't a clue about how to approach her, but I
was determined to find a way.


* * *


My first ploy was to arrange to be with her, alone, at every
opportunity.  I stayed after class to ask her dumb questions about the
day's lesson.  I lingered on her porch, when I collected for the
newspaper.  I rode my bike past her house almost every day and stopped
to talk with her, when I saw her in the yard.  I thought that I had
made real progress, when Miss Foster invited me into her kitchen for
hot cocao on a particularly cold and rainy April Saturday as I was
collecting for the newspaper.  I stood next to the stove, looking up
at her in open admiration of her beauty.  I was then about five feet
tall, but she was a head taller.  She smiled warmly at me, and when
she handed me the mug of cacao, I was able to touch her hand.

She must have been really amused at me, I realize now, for pursuing
her so obviously, although then I thought that I was being so clever
and subtle.  When I left her kitchen that morning, she briefly petted
my flaxen head, so affectionately, and she gave me a wan smile.

As the school year drew to an end I was troubled by the fact that soon
I would not see Miss Foster every day.  I went to her and offered to
do her yard work over the Summer, requesting just a very small
compensation for my efforts.  She grinned at me, like never before,
giving me a smile that told me that I was special to her.  She agreed
to hire my services, and I left the school that day walking on air.

It was a hot and humid day in late May when I first cut Miss Foster's
lawn.  I labored behind the push mower, almost naked, clad just in
shorts and shoes.  It was not intentional, my semi nakedness.  I did
not mean to attract her attention with my flesh, because I did not
know how sexually attractive my body was.  It was just the heat.

After I finished the mowing, Miss Foster invited me into her cool
house for a glass of lemonade.  I was dripping wet with sweat.  We
stood in her kitchen.  She handed me the glass and then ran her hand
across my chest, lingering for a moment on my flat tummy.  She said
that I was very sweaty and could use a cold shower to refresh myself.
She showed me the shower, the one off her bedroom, and I routinely
locked the door before I stripped naked.  The experience was indeed
very refreshing, and I lingered under the water, soaping my groin,
which then had a few strands of pubic hair.  I massaged my soapy cock,
already stiff, and I masturbated in Miss Foster's shower stall,
shooting my stuff all over the wall, stifling my grunts.

When I emerged from  her bathroom, I encountered Miss Foster standing
next to her bed.  She had changed her clothes.  Before she had worn
jeans and a short sleeve shirt.  Now she was in shorts and a halter
that did not conceal her belly button.  She was barefoot.  I stared at
her exquisite legs, then at her bare midrift, then at the slight bulge
of her breasts, and finally at her face.  She smiled at me in a very
familiar way, as though there were no secrets between us.  She excited
me and I sprouted a stiffie, which I am sure that she noticed.  I was
excited, but also very nervous and unsure of myself.  I told her that
I had to go home, and she said that she understood.  She put her arm
around my bare shoulders as we walked to the front door and held me a
bit close to her.  My arm angled down awkwardly in her slight embrace,
and the back of my hand rubbed against the flesh of her thigh.  At the
door she asked me to come back later, when it was cooler, to trim her
bushes.  She took my cheeks in her hands and kissed my forehead.

I rode my bike home furiously, recklessly.  I could not believe what
had happened.  I wondered whether I was reading too much into her
behavior.  It could have been entirely innocent; the affection of an
adult who likes me after knowing me for so long.  I hoped not.


* * *


As soon as supper was over I rode my bike over to Miss Foster's house,
eager to resume what I thought was a major breakthrough in our
relationship.  When I got there I saw her just coming out of her
house, followed by a guy, an adult, a big man with a smug look about
him.  I braked my bike at her driveway and she waved to me.  She came
over to me and pointed out the bushes that she wanted trimmed.  Then
she patted me on the head, turned and went with the guy to his fancy
car.  I watched them drive off, that guy with my girl.  I thought that
I would die.  I felt bitter and betrayed.

I hacked at her bushes, did a half-assed job of it and then went home.
I could not understand it.  She had touched me and I thought that
there was some meaning in it.  Then she treated like a yard boy, and
went off with her Mr. Wonderful.

I lay on my bed in a funk.  I knew that I could not compete with Mr.
Wonderful and his Jaguar.  I was just a kid who rode a Schwinn.  I lay
there and imaged her beautiful face, those lovely dark eyes and fresh
cheeks, her expressive mouth and rosy lips.  My hand was pushed into
my shorts, grasping my hard cock, pulling on it as I remembered the
softness of Miss Foster's thigh.  I stopped, undressed, not wanting to
mess my clothes, and then I masturbated, dreaming of the most perfect
woman in the entire world.

The next day I rode to Miss Foster's house, where I found her in the
front yard.  I stopped, of course, and said hello.  She was not
pleased.  She said that I had not done a proper job on her bushes and
she wanted me to finish it correctly.  I felt sheepish and hung my
head.  I worked on her bushes, after she went inside the house,
leaving me to feel miserable once again.  I snipped at the bushes in a
sullen mood.  As I was finishing the job, Miss Foster came onto the
porch and hailed me, inviting me to have some lemonade.  She looked at
my work and said that I had done a good job.  I was not mollified.  I
still seethed with anger at her betrayal of me.  She seemed to notice
that I was in a foul mood, as we stood in her kitchen drinking
lemonade, and I think that she knew why.  She palmed my cheek and then
petted my head, looking into my face with the most marvelous
expression, but she did not volunteer to explain Mr. Wonderful.   I
was so distraught.  I loved her so much.  I put my arms around her,
pulled her to me and rested my cheek on her shoulder.  I felt her
stiffen and she pushed me away a bit brusquely.  Miss Foster then put
her hand on my head, smiled at me sweetly, told me to behave myself
and pulled painfully on my hair.  She told me to go home and to return
in a week to mow the lawn.  I rode home on my bike totally deflated,
realizing that she thought of me as just a kid. 

* * *

My next ploy was to ignore her, to pretend that she didn't exist.  For
three weeks I did her yard work, but I refused to go into her house,
when she offered me refreshment.  It didn't seem to work; she didn't
come after me, and I wound up with a lot of hard work and no lemonade.
Then one day, as I was pushing the lawn mower in the July heat, she
came out onto the lawn with a glass of lemonade.   I didn't see her
coming.  She approached me from behind, put her hand on my bare
shoulder and I started.  I turned to her and she smiled beautifully at
me.  I took the lemonade, thanking her for it, and I drank it down in
a long swallow.  She then said that she wanted me to come into the
house, when I was finished, because she had some things to say to me.
She gave me a grin and then left, going up the front stairs and into
the house.  I wondered what was on her mind, but I didn't hope for
much.  I had lost my naivete.

We sat on her couch, a bit apart, facing each other.  After a few
banal comments about the heat, Miss Foster got to the point.  She said
that she liked me more than any other boy in the school.  She said
that I was very good looking and that she found me quite attractive.
I knew that tone of voice and I waited for the other shoe to fall,
which it soon did with a thud.  She observed that she was twice my
age, that I was just thirteen years old and not sufficiently mature to
make important personal decisions.  She said that, in any case, the
law was such that she could be put in prison for just kissing me on
the lips.  She seemed nervous, saying those words.  Although I was in
a sullen mood, I spoke out boldly.  I told her that I would very much
like to kiss her on the lips, and that I could never imagine ever
telling another person about it.  I looked directly into her face and
asked her if she wanted to kiss me.  She clasped her hands together
and looked flustered.   It's really not up to us, she stammered.
We're here alone in this room, I argued with more composure than I
knew I had.  The rest of the world is outside, I added.  Miss Foster,
a woman whom I had always known as a strong, even domineering person,
suddenly seemed to deflate.

I took her hand and moved close to her.  Out bodies touched.  She did
not object or move away from me, and I felt that she might have leaned
slighty toward me.  She stared at her shoes.  I want to kiss you, I
said, and she suddenly looked into my face.  It distressed me that she
appeared to be so unhappy at the prospect of our kissing.  I palmed
her cheek, which was moist from tears, and I told her that I loved
her.  She did not resist my embrace nor my kiss.  She sat limply as I
pressed my lips inexpertly against hers.  Then she reacted.  She put
her arms around me and kissed me back passionately.  Her tongue
invaded my mouth, and within seconds I learned the ways of kissing
properly.  When I cupped her right breast in my passion, she brushed
me away.  Her tittie was smaller than I had thought; it scarcely
filled my hand.  But we kissed some more, tangling our tongues.  Then
she suddenly stood and said that I had to return home.  Her face was
flushed and her voice was uncertain.  I got up and we went to the
front door hand in hand.  She suddenly grasped me to her, sucked
strongly on one of my ear lobes and pushed me out the door, which she
opened and shut in a snap.

* * *

I was not at all certain that I had achieved a significant victory in
my quest to have Miss Foster.  She had responded to my advances with
the greatest reluctance, and her momentary passionate embrace and kiss
was no true indicator of her intentions.  I was just a kid with little
to offer beyond my fresh prettiness and she was a teacher, a serious
person, an adult who had everything to lose.  I suppose that, then, at
age thirteen I was aware of such considerations, although I certainly
never though that clearly.  My adult self is intruding into this story
of my youth.

I rode home on my bike elated that I had kissed her and had felt her
boob.  I hurried, because I wanted to lock myself in my room, strip
naked and jack off.  Which I did.  I was not particularly large,
although my cock was more impressive than many of my class mades, some
of whom still had baby dicks, skinny, flabby appendanges that grew to
little more than three inches.  I was certainly not as large as Jack
Simpson, who had an adult-sized cock that could probably smash
coconuts.  My cock was large enough that I could fist it, when I
jacked off, and it was reasonably thick.  There were a few strands of
hair above it then, but one could scarcely notice them, because I was
so blond.

After I jacked off and cleaned up the mess, I lay on my bed, still
naked, and played with myself.  I poked at my ass hole and flipped my
dick back and forth until it got hard again.  I stared at it and
thought that it was big enough to satisfy Miss Foster, although I
didn't have a clue about pleasuring a woman.  I didn't even know the
anatomy.  I thought about jacking off again, but decided to save it
for later.  At that time I masturbated three and four times a day.

Most days that Summer I was on my own.  My mom worked and there was
just the two of us.  I hung out and played games with neighborhood
guys, although I had never had a best buddy.  Not once was I tempted
to tell them about my love for Miss Foster, because most of them
thought that she was a demon, and I certainly would not reveal that I
had kissed  her and felt her boob.  I loved Miss Foster and I would do
anything to protect her.  I was troubled about my feelings for her,
because they seemed to be so stupid, but I wanted her.  I wanted to
experience again her scent and touch, her softness.  I wanted to taste
her.

The morning after we had kissed, I rode my bike to her house, but she
was not there.  Nor was she at home that afternoon.  My mom wouldn't
let me go out that night, although I nagged her and whined. She
insisted that I stay home and clean my room, which was, indeed,
filthy.

The next morning, after my mom went off to work, I climbed the stairs
to Miss Foster's porch and pushed the door bell.  I waited and then
pushed it again.  I was about to leave in frustration, when I heard
the door opening.  Miss Foster poked her head out and stared at me.
It's not yet nine o'clock, she said with a bit of annoyance in her
voice.  Her brown  hair was tangled, her face pale, unmade.  She had a
bathrobe pulled around her and was barefoot.  She looked so beautiful
to me.  She let me come in, although she did not appear to be
particularly eager about it.  We went to the kitchen, where Miss
Foster prepared coffee.  I rejected her offer of a glass of milk,
although I accepted orange juice.  I sat at the kitchen table and
watched her put together a breakfast of coffee and toast.  Then she
sat opposite me and I stared at her as she ate.  She gave me a scowl
and then a grin.  I giggled like a child; I couldn't help it.  I
focused on her neck, so graceful and smooth looking.  I would like to
taste her there, I thought.  We never spoke much to each other,
because we had so little in common to discuss.  She was not the kind
of an adult who would pretend to know about kid stuff.  She read books
in foreign languages and listened to classical music.

What brings you here so early, she asked me, looking into my face.  I
told her the truth.  I want to kiss you again, I said.  She flushed
and looked nervously at me.  That was all a mistake, what we did, she
retorted a bit gruffly and busied herself with her toast.  I then
decided that Miss Foster was not a morning person.  I reached my hand
across the table and placed it on top of hers.  She did not pull away,
but she gave me a troubled look.   I realized that I was causing her
great discomfort, and I removed my hand from hers.  I'm sorry, I
apologized.  She then grabbed my hand, smiled at me wanly, brought it
to her face and rubbed it against her cheek.  This excited me and I
sprung a stiffie.  She did not let go of my hand.  She played with my
fingers as she looked into my face, unblinking.  Her other hand
carressed my forearm, up and down most gently.  She stared at me so
intently that I had to look down and examine the empty glass before
me.

I'm going away, she almost whispered.  I'm going to California to a
new job in three weeks.  I looked up at her suddenly and sensed a wave
of panic looming above me.  I felt tears welling, and I forced myself
not to cry.  She put her mouth on my hand and kissed it, looking at me
all the while.  She stood up, still holding my hand.  Her robe parted
a bit and I glimpsed part of a bare breast.  She pulled me to my feet.
Staring straight ahead, my eyes were level with her neck, the neck
that I so wanted to taste.  She put her arms around me and held me.
She let me lick her neck.  She squeezed me gently and whispered into
my ear, you must keep our secret.  Our secret!  I knew what the words
promised.  Yes, I whispered back, I will keep our secret.

* * *

Miss Foster led me by the hand out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Although I knew what was about to happen, and although the prospect of
it excited me no end, I was almost in tears.  She was going away.  I
was losing her.  We entered her bed room, a frilly, feminine place
that smelled of powder and perfume.  She put both hands on my head and
stroked my hair as if I were a kitten.  I looked into her face and I
saw my teacher, the woman who would teach me everything.  She palmed
my cheek and gave me a wonderous smile.  She leaned her head down and
we kissed, first chastely, then gently, then passionately.  We clung
to each other and traded spit.

She sat on the bed with me in front of her.  She looked as excited as
I felt.  She pushed up at my t shirt and I took it off.  She then ran
her hands over my chest, my shoulders and my arms.  She seemed to
marvel at them.  She pulled me to her and tongued my belly button.  I
reached down and pulled the robe from her shoulders, which then fell
to her waist.  Her small breasts made her look younger.  She undid my
shorts and they dropped to my ankles.  Then she pulled down my
underpants.  For some time Miss Foster rubbed my legs up and down and
fondled my buttocks.  My erect penis pointed straight at her nose.
She explored my body with her hands as it it were something precious.
Then, without warning, her mouth was on my cock, sucking it with
intent.  I did not have time to relish the pleasure of her mouth on
me; I came after no more than twenty seconds.  I spewed forth
copiously.  My stuff drooled from her mouth and dripped onto the
carpet.  She spat a gob onto my thigh, but I saw her swallow.  She
finished me by hand, somehow knowing how to end it properly, so that
the last pleasure is squeezed out.  Miss Foster then got up and went
into her bathroom, where I heard her turn on the water in the sink and
brush her teeth.  I lay naked on the bed with two pilows behind my
head.  My skin tingled in satisfaction, my cock lay against my body,
half hard.  I knew that there was more to come.

Miss Foster returned to the bed room naked.  I could not tear my
attention from her pubic bush, which was, in itself, not alluring.
But it seemed to define her femininity, her mystery.  She smiled
grandly at me and lay beside me.  We embraced, pushed out bodies
together and kissed.  I tasted toothpaste.  I loved her so profoundly.
She told me to put my face between her legs, which I did without
question.  She reached down and spread her vaginal lips with her
fingers.  She showed me what she and other women had, and she
explained it all to me.  I liked her unusual smell down there.  She
told  me to lap her clit, which I did, and she gave me running
instructions on how to do it properly.  The taste was tart, and I
wondered if it were piss.  I got it right finally, and Miss Foster
stopped talking, stopped giving me instruction.  I lapped on her and
she moaned.  She was so wet down there. My face became smeared by her
precious slime.  She then went wild, yelling and  squeezing my head
with her thighs.  It lasted only seconds, but it seemed to endure for
a long time.  My head hurt, after she released me, but I was so proud
to have given her pleasure.

I loved the touch of her flesh.  I lay beside her, suckling a tit like
a baby, as I ran my hand up and down her side, her buttock and her
upper thigh, feeling her softness.  Miss Foster fondled my head and
cooed sighs of contentment.  I wanted to freeze time to that moment.

Miss Foster pulled me from her tit and urged me to move up so that we
could kiss, which we did with abandon.  Get on top of me, she said
softly into my ear.  I rolled onto her and felt her soft body beneath
me, relishing it.  Lean on your elbows.  You're crushing me, she
barked.  I did as she ordered, feeling a bit stupid.  She spread her
legs and raised her knees high.  My face was an inch above hers.   As
we kissed I felt her hand take hold of my hard cock and place the head
of it at a warm, slippery opening.  I knew where it was!  I pushed in
instinctively and penetrated her fully.  The pleasure was incredible
and I began to pump her wildly, slipping out repeatedly.  Slow down,
slow down, she advised me as she licked my cheek.  Don't fuck me.
Make love to me, she breathed into my ear.  I actually understood what
she meant.  We kissed as we set up a rhythm of mutual pushing.  It ws
so marvelous.  Don't come too soon, she murmured.  Make it last.  I
thought of algebra problems to take my mind off my cock as it slipped
in and out of her.  Then Miss Foster began to push at me rather
desperately, moaning and gripping my shoulders.  She started to expell
her breath in brief, high pitched eeks, and then she wailed into my
ear, throwing her legs around my body.  Something inside of her
clenched the head of my cock, and that set me off.  I yelped loudly
with each spurt.

Miss Foster pushed me off of her gently and then held me to her.  We
lay quietly together, kissing and touching each other.  I dozed for a
bit with my face in her neck.  We made love two more times before
noon, and I wanted to do it again, but she said that I should save
something for tomorrow morning.

I kept count.  Before she left for California three weeks later, I had
eighty three orgasm with Miss Foster; fifteen in her mouth, three in
her hand, once in her ass and the rest in the usual place.  She was a
magnificent teacher.  I learned to deal with females, to understand
them, to pleasure them.  Our final lovemaking lasted for almost an
hour; we didn't want it to end.  Then we parted tearfully, but I took
her advice and sought out a new girl, a cute sixteen year old who
lived down the block.  I set out to have her.


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