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Even Teachers Need to Learn

By: Spykke



I slumped in my seat on the train, tired and cold. I had just spent two busy days in London and was on my way back to Yorkshire where I was a post-graduate student at the University of Bradford. 

It was the coldest February for some time and the snow lay thick on the ground. I was grateful that I had worn my unfashionable but very warm woolen overcoat along with my long university scarf. Usually only worn by freshers, my scarf spent most of it's life in my wardrobe. In those days of the late 1960's my usual choice of clothes was worn Levis, a variety of T or sweat shirts, a leather jacket and boots. I had got a taste for knee high stiefel during my industrial training in Germany. I had never latched into the hippy ethos but I did wear my hair at shoulder length, albeit tied in a pony tail.

As for me, well my name is Henry Jones. Not the coolest of names and I preferred to be known as H. At the ripe age of 25 I had taken my first degree in Chemical Engineering and was in my final year of my PhD. The University of Bradford had been a College of Advanced Technology, or CAT but had been converted to a university in the mid 1960's. While the older, more established universities regarded us to be upstarts, we had established superb links with industry and delivered a good quality, well balanced undergraduate course. This had resulted in me spending a six month periods working in Germany, six months in Switzerland and a nine month period in the USA. All served to make me mature and confident as well as landing me a lucrative sponsorship for my research.

Life was pretty good as a post-grad. Apart from the time I had to spend working on my research, I also spent time tutoring under-grads. This not only earned a little cash, it also gave me a chance to get to know the few female undergrads in the chemical engineering department. Because I got a first in my first degree I also managed to get sponsorship for my research. This meant that my sponsor got the advantage of my results and I got a decent lump of cash. I had completed my research and the past two days had been spent with my sponsors discussing the outcomes and my draft thesis.

Although it was mid afternoon, the sullen, overcast sky made it feel later than is actually was. The weather was so bad that there were few people on the train. I heard the doors slamming in anticipation of the train leaving when a girl came into my carriage. She was breathing slightly heavily as if she had been rushing.

"May I sit here?" she asked, pointing at the seat opposite me.

"Please do," I replied.

She was a stunning girl, incredibly pretty with a thick bush of wavy blond hair. She wore a thick brown coat, a knitted woolen hat and a university scarf. The scarf had the distinctive colours of the chemical engineering faculty of my alma mata. She took off her coat and hat. She wore a ribbed sweater, knee length woolen dress, warm boots and knitted stockings or tights – she was well prepared for the cold. She was a short, slightly dumpy girl with long, shoulder length, blonde hair. While not unattractive, some guys wouldn't have taken to her slightly plump middle. Personally, I was captivated by her cuteness.

She sat down with a sigh and relaxed. Her face had a pale, translucent quality and from her straw coloured eye brows I guessed that she was a genuine blonde. Her other obvious attribute was a pair of very large, perfectly shaped breasts.

The train shuddered and began to leave the station.

"Just made it, eh?" I commented, trying to break the ice.

She gave a little start and replied, "Yes, the roads were terrible, I nearly didn't make it."

Her voice was quiet and her eyes were slightly down-cast, not making eye contact. I suspected that she was a little on the shy side.

"Look, I'm just going to get a drink, can I get you a coffee – it'll help warm you through," I offered.

"Oh... yes please," She replied.

I went to the refreshment carriage and got a couple of large coffees and went back to my seat.

"I'm Henry Jones," I told her. "But my friends call me H."

"My name's Sylvia Lundegaard," she replied.

"Ah, Scandinavian," I said, "that explains your beautiful blonde hair."

"Only on my father's side. I'm born and bred in Worcestershire," she smiled, taking a sip of coffee.

"Are you a fresher?" I asked, nodding at her scarf.

"Yes, I've just finished my first industrial training. And you?"

"Afraid not, I'm an old hand," I explained. "I'm a post-grad."

She looked a little impressed.

"So are you looking forward to university life?"

"I think so although I'm a little nervous. I find it a little difficult getting to know new people," she admitted.

"You'll enjoy it, it's a great experience," I reassured her. "Are you in halls?"

"Yes, Dennis Bellamy Hall."

"So am I," I told her. "Normally they don't let post-grads stay in halls but I have a friend in the accommodation office. Halls are ideal for freshers – close to the university, decent food, comfortable rooms."

Sylvia smiled and I sensed she was a little relieved.

"So tell me about your industrial training..." I asked.

------------------

There's nothing like conversation to help a journey pass quickly. I took the opportunity to bring Sylvia up to speed on the many facets of life at university, telling her about all the good places to eat, drink and party. By the time we arrived at Bradford station I felt we were well on the way to establishing a rapport although Sylvia still had a shy reserve. I found it very easy to make her blush – the slightest comment would be enough to embarrass her.

The snow was thick and falling heavily so I hailed a taxi to the halls of residence. I accompanied Sylvia when she registered, paid her deposits and got her room keys.

"I'm in room F18," she told me.

"That's the floor below me," I told her, "I'm in G42."

Floors D, E and F were used to accommodate female students only and constituted a serious honey pot for the randy male students in the rest of the halls. At the end of each floor was a utility room with a washing machine, dryer and ironing facilities. There was also a kitchen with a fridge, kettle and small cooker. Since meals were included in hall fees, the kitchen was mostly used to prepare coffee and late night snacks.

I helped her lug her bags to her room.

"Give me a shout if I can help in any way," I told her, and left her to unpack and settle in."

-----------

The weather deteriorated over the next two days and although I was able to walk to the faculty, most of the lecturers and profs were snow bound and couldn't get in. Lectures had been cancelled until the snow cleared. 

One of my most cherished possessions was, and still is, a 1958 Gibson Les Paul Guitar. My father had been in the states on business in 1958 and had seen the guitar in a music shop. Gibson had just introduced the use of book matched maple on the front face of Les Pauls and this guitar was a fine example with a particularly striking grain pattern. My father didn't play the guitar but had been attracted to the instrument and his instincts told him to buy it. It was a good investment. By the end of the 1960's, when he gave it to me, it was worth around £2000 – not that I would ever sell it. Over the years it's colour had mellowed and the sound improved beyond measure. I played blues and played through my Fender "tweed" amp it sounded fantastic. 

The following Saturday afternoon I settled down to a practice session, working through my repertoire of blues numbers. My musical endeavours were interrupted by the ringing of my phone. It was Sylvia.

"Hope I didn't wake you but I wondered if you would like to come down for coffee," she asked.

An invitation to a girl's room for coffee could mean a number of things, including seduction. Whatever it was, it was usually fun. Naturally I agreed. I showered and shaved and was knocking on her door within the hour.

"Just a moment," I heard her call out.

Seconds later she opened the door and welcomed me in with a smile. She had wet, suds covered hands.

"Please sit down, I'm just finishing washing some things," she said as she turned to her sink. I watched her as she rinsed and wrung dry a few pairs of panties before hanging them over the radiator to dry. 

"There, that'll keep me going until I can get to the laundry," she muttered to no-one in particular.

I stole a quick peep at her newly washed underwear. They were plain white cotton full briefs – very sexy.

Sylvia had decorated the room nicely handing up a variety of posters and photographs. She had put a woven throw over her bed and there were a variety of ornaments and candles. There was a pleasant smell of herbs from a number of tubs of potpourri.

She wore a white blouse and a long flowing skirt which looked Scandinavian. I could see her white, lacy bra through her blouse. She was bare footed.

"Would you like coffee or I have green tea if you prefer."

"Tea would be great," I replied. I had acquired a taste for green tea during my industrial training period in Switzerland.

Sylvia slipped out of the room for a few minutes to make the drinks. Once done, she sat cross legged on her bed. He skirt had ridden up above her knees exposing her feet and lower legs but hanging so that it covered her upper legs and crotch. I had had no sex since I split with my last girl friend 6 months previously and a lecherous thoughts flitted through my mind. I imagined how her crotch must look with her snug white panties gripping her fleshy mons. I pushed the thought from my mind, not wanting to become too frustrated. I really wanted the shag the arse off Sylvia but I actually liked the girl and I hoped that romance was on the cards.

Her calves were pale and smooth with a light dusting of golden hair. Her feet were tiny, her toe nails trimmed and unvarnished. The soles of her feet were dirty from where she had been walking about. I felt a strong urge to kiss and lick them.

"I was hoping that you might help me with some of my work. Although we've had no lectures I've been reading my heat transfer book," Sylvia explained.

"And there I was thinking that you invited me down because of my natural charm, charisma and general good company," I joked.

Sylvia blushed deep red.

"Oh... sorry... that was a little rude of me," she stammered.

"Relax, I was joking," I told her. "If you're going to spend time with me you must realise that I joke a lot. Now what is the problem?"

"Well I find the way that heat transfer is calculated rather odd. There seems to be no rigorous theory and a lot depends on fudges like Log mean Temperature Difference and general heat transfer coefficient correlations. It seems too approximate."

"Don't worry about it," I replied. "For most systems its perfectly sufficient to design a suitable exchanger on that basis. When you allow for fouling, which itself is difficult to estimate, there is already a lot of uncertainty. Also don't forget that heat exchanger manufacturers tend to use standard bundle sizes and configurations so all you need to do is make sure your design isn't undersized. The control system will ensure it works."

Throughout my little lecture Sylvia listened with a rapt expression, nodding as her understanding increased.

"The real time where things get tricky is with non-Newtonian fluids or condensation with non-condensable gases. Then you need to use a finite element approach. My research is looking at this area, you'll have to come and see my test rig sometime."

At that point Sylvia gave a giggle.

"'Come and see my test rig sometime' sounds like an alternative to 'come up and see my etchings'," she explained.

I could see that Sylvia had a real flair for the subject as she subjected me to half an hour of progressively more penetrating questions. Eventually I began to run out of steam.

"Enough already, you'll wear me out," I told her.

Sylvia smiled broadly.

"Sorry, but I love the subject."

"You'll have plenty of time to get to grips with it," I assured her.

The weather had worsened outside with the snow falling heavily and the sky leaden and dark. Sylvia lit a number of candles filling the room with a cosy glow. I couldn't think of anything more pleasant than sitting safe and warm inside while outside it was cold and inhospitable. 

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

Sylvia looked suddenly alarmed but nodded.

"You seem awfully shy, why is that?"

Sylvia paused, gnawing her lip uncertainly – a trait I found somehow endearing. 

"What do you see when you look at me?" she finally asked.

I hesitated, weighing my words carefully.

"I see a young and very attractive girl," I finally replied.

She gave an uncertain smile.

"Thankyou, but what people see is a dumpy girl with huge breasts," she contradicted.

I looked at her, befuddled. She had a great pair of tits.

"I was an early developer," she explained. "I began sprouting my breasts when I was nine – years before my friends. Do you know what its like to be different? The boys laughed at me and the girls were jealous. It was awful."

Sylvia's eyes filled and tears trickled down her cheeks.

"They're too big, I wish I could have them cut off," she sobbed.

I went over to her and sat on the bed beside her. I put my arm around her.

"Hey, now... now..., what's all this. That was in the past, take my word for it, you look just perfect. You've got a body to die for."

"You're just saying that," Sylvia sobbed with surprising venom, pulling away from me, "you men are only ever after one thing."

I was stunned at her anger, particularly since I had done nothing to deserve it.

"And what might that be?" I asked.

"You're only interested it what you can get. A quick grope maybe even a fuck."

Now that pissed me off big time. I didn't care how nice she was, no one spoke to me like that. I wouldn't mind if I was only interested in the insides of her knickers but I actually wanted to be a friend and help her out. I stood up.

"I'm sorry you have such a blinkered view of men," I told her, coldly. "You don't know me and yet you make unjustified assumptions. I think I'd better go and leave you to your self pity."

I left her room in a towering rage. If the weather had been better I would have gone down the pub but instead I headed down to the hall bar. I saw a group of post-grad pals sat at a table playing cards.

"Hey H, grab a drink and join us," one called out.

I never needed much encouragement so I bought a pint of Guinness and sat down for a drink and a chat. We soon got stuck into a drink and poker fest.

Later as I lay in bed, I pondered the strange beast that is woman. I found Sylvia's reaction inexplicable although there was no doubt something behind it. Having said that, there was no way I was going to let the strange behaviour of a somewhat immature girl upset me. I turned over, put her out of my mind and went to sleep.

------------------

As it turned out, the next two weeks were extremely hectic. My sponsors were very excited about the results of my work and I was summoned back to London to discuss my future. The outcome was beyond my wildest dreams. They offered my a full time job at a jaw dropping salary with immediate effect but with my work commencing in September that year, allowing me time to submit my thesis and deliver my outstanding tutoring responsibilities while on a salary. I was seriously happy to say the least.

Once I got back to Bradford it was time for the daily grind. The snow had largely cleared and lectures had resumed. I headed to my tiny office, stopping at my pigeon hole on the way to pick up my post. Amongst it was my list of tutorial groups. I had been assigned two groups of 6 students from the first year. Amongst them was Sylvia. I gave a quiet sigh, I hoped she wasn't going to cause any disruption.

Any concerns I may have had were soon dispelled. Out of her group, Sylvia was the only student with any real flair for chemical engineering. She was quiet and somewhat shy but her contributions were always perceptive and significant. She studiously avoided my gaze, tending to keep her eyes fixed on the floor.

This continued for the next couple of weeks until one day she held back after the other students had left my office.

"C... could I speak with you?" she asked, nervously.

I grunted impatiently - I had a tendency to be a little slow on forgiveness.

"L... look, I want to apologise," she began. "I wasn't very fair to you. I don't have much experience with men. The few boys I went out with were only interested in putting their hands up my skirt or sweater. Can we start again?"

"OK," I sighed, "come and sit down," I told her.

I sat waiting for her to speak. Sylvia was the epitome of nervousness. She held her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together. She stared down. After a few minutes she sighed and looked up.

"I'm sorry Henry," she began, her face flushed, gnawing her lip. "My experiences with boys hasn't been good, in fact they've been terrible. 

"You've got to try and learn to trust people. What blokes think and do are not always the same. Now I'll admit that I would very much like to explore every part of your gorgeous body but that doesn't mean that everything I say or do is with that in mind." 

Sylvia blushed at my admission and gnawed her lip.

"I would very much like to be your friend, counselor, mentor whatever you need. I won't promise that I won't look at you with undisguised lust from time to time but I would also like you be your chum. How does that sound?"

"Did you look at the knickers that I put on the radiator when you were in my room?" she asked with ludicrous irrelevance. "Are they the sort of thing that will enflame a man?"

"Of course I did, I'd be a pretty odd sort of bloke if I wasn't interested in your most intimate clothing. I would also look up your skirt if I had half a chance but it is quite normal for people to admire the opposite sex."

She looked at me incredulously.

"I still think you're full of it but point taken," she conceded with a smile after a pause. "Can we start again? Let me make you supper this evening."

-------------

That evening I headed up to Sylvia's room. On the way I grabbed a bottle of wine from my room as my contribution to supper.

Sylvia had heated up a can of vegetable soup which we ate with wholegrain bread rolls. For a time we didn't speak, being content to eat supper and enjoy some wine. I was still surprised at the vehemence of Sylvia's reacted and suspected that something in the past had caused her distress. I reasoned that perhaps she needed to face up to this and I decided to force her to confront matters.

"OK," I began, sitting back in my seat, "what happened to give you such a low opinion of men?"

"I don't know what you mean," she protested.

"Come on, credit me with some intelligence, the way you reacted was driven by some serious unhappiness, I think you need to tell me about it."

Sylvia sighed unhappily and sat silently gnawing her lip for several minutes. I guessed she was suffering and left her to make her mind up in her own time. Finally her, her face set with determination, she began.

"I wasn't exactly truthful when I told you that all the boys I went out with were only after my body. The truth is I've only ever gone out with one boy. I had known him all my life and I thought he was my friend. When we were fifteen he invited me to a disco in the village hall. I had never been taken to a dance before and it was so exciting. It was also his first dance and he drank too much. As the evening wore on he got drunker and drunker. We were dancing to a slow song when he started trying to grab my breasts. He got his hand inside my dress and squeezed my breast. I had never had anyone touch my naked body before and I pulled back in shock. His hand tore my dress and my breasts fell out. All the children who used to bully me at school were at the dance and they all saw my chest. They laughed at me!"


Even Teachers Need to Learn



Tears had begun to stream down her cheeks again and Sylvia sobbed in distress as she recalled the event.

"I... it was horrible. I ran out of the hall but the damage was done. I was the talk of the village, the cruel and nasty taunts. All the horrors of my school life were reborn. The boy came to my house the next day to apologise. I attacked him and scratched his face. I've never spoken to him again."

Sylvia subsided into silence. I left her alone, not even attempting to comfort her.

"Tell me," I finally asked her, "have you ever heard the phrase 'shit happens'?"

"N... no..." she replied.

"OK, what it means is that nasty things will happen to all of us. We've all had those terrible moments. The amazing thing about humans is that we have an inner resolve which allows us to cope, if we want to. There are two things you can do."

I looked at Sylvia, she was looking back quizzically. 

"First, you can drown in self-pity, blaming the world for your problems and never trying to cope. Or, alternatively, you can say to yourself 'I'm above this, I don't need this crap and I'm going to get over it. Why should some stupid cunt blight my life' The question is are you going to be a wimp or do you have the balls to spit the world in the eye?"

"You do have an interesting turn of phrase," Sylvia replied, with a small smile.

"That was deliberate to lighten the atmosphere, but do you see what I'm getting at?"

"I think so," Sylvia acknowledged.

Ok, repeat what I just said.

Sylvia slowly repeated what I had said, blushing furiously as she repeated "crap" and "cunt".

"Let me tell you a little story," I told her. "This is a little rude but it was quite a funny situation. A couple of years ago I had a girlfriend who was very sexual – she couldn't go a day without having sex several times."

Sylvia looked at me in mild shock.

"Anyway, one day she had a mild dose of stomach problems brought on by a dodgy curry. That evening we were walking back to halls from the pub when she decided she wanted a shag. She wouldn't wait until we got back to the halls, she had to have it there and then. She dragged me into an ally-way and dropped her pants. I screwed her against a wall. She came big time, shouting and screaming as she did. In fact, she came so hard that she shat herself. It went everywhere, down her legs, up her back, over my favourite suede boots. I never realised that a human being could shit so much. What's worse, it was liquid and very, very smelly. 'Oops,' she says and calm as you like wiped herself down with her panties and walked home smelling like a latrine."

Sylvia's face was a picture, her eyes and mouth wide open in amazement.

"Nooooo!" she gasped.

"I was seriously pissed because she had ruined my boots. Do you know what she said the next day when I saw her at breakfast and told her how pissed I was about it?" I asked.

Sylvia shook her head.

"She said 'shit happens', and gave a laugh. And that's a true story."

"You said 'halls', was she a student?" Sylvia asked.

"Yes," I replied. "In fact, she has a room on this floor but I'm not telling you who she is. The important point is that she faced the world with attitude. You must do the same."

I topped up her wine glass and continued.

"I'm going to give you a lecture so listen up. The days when you were a ten year old with bit tits are long gone. You're no different to other women and you have nothing to be apologetic for. In fact, there are many women who would kill for a body like yours. From now on I want you to have a 'I don't give a fuck' attitude. If things go wrong, you will deal with it, not complain, not wallow in self pity. OK?"

"Yes boss," she grinned. "Do you bully all your friends?"

"Yep, I do. Also, you will stop blushing every time I ask you anything risqué."

"Yes boss."

"Do you masturbate?" I snapped at her.

Sylvia stared at me, her mouth flapping open and shut like a beached fish."

"Come on, answer."

"Y... yes," she finally replied, looking a little shame faced.

I stared at her for ten seconds and she dropped her eyes.

"Good fun isn't it?" I finally asked her.

Sylvia looked up and grinned.

"Yes it is."

"I do it all the time! That was a test to see if you had a don't give a damn attitude. You almost passed. Next time I expect you to reply immediately and stare me out defying me to react."

"Nice wine this," Sylvia smiled, drawing the topic to a close.

"Yeah," I told her, "and the bottle's empty. I'll go get another if you fancy getting pissed."

Sylvia nodded. "Why not, its Sunday tomorrow."

I nipped up to my room and got another bottle from my stash. I had a friend in the wine business who kept me stocked with decent stuff. When I got back Sylvia had stretched back on her bed leaning on her pillows against the headboard. I opened the bottle, topped up our glasses and sat down. There was something different about Sylvia but I couldn't put my finger on it. She gave a small smile and ran a hand across her blouse. Then I got it, she had taken off her bra. I could see the soft outline of her perfect tits.

"I'll probably regret doing this in the morning when I'm, sober, but what do you think of them?" she asked, fixing my eye with a stare.

Sylvia quickly unbuttoned her blouse and opened it, exposing her naked chest.

They were perfect. Large but upturned – her tits defied gravity. Alabaster white, with a tracery of blue veins visible through her translucent skin. Her nipples were large and pale pink. My throat went dry.

"They are most perfect tits I have ever seen," I finally managed to gasp.

"Thank you," she replied with a grin, as she buttoned up again. "That wasn't easy but I wanted to see if I could show myself without throwing a fit."

I grinned back, she was learning fast.

"You did well and I'm grateful that you gave me the chance to see your perfect attributes."

Sylvia sipped her wine and paused.

"You know, I can't get over your story about your girlfriend. I would just die if I poohed myself in front of someone. Why did you break up with her?" Sylvia asked.

"I had a great pair of suede boots which I brought in the states. My lovely girlfriend shat all over them. I tell you now, there is no method known to modern science for removing shit from suede leather. I had to throw them out – it broke my heart."

The truth was a little different but I didn't feel ready to discuss things in too much detail. In any event there wouldn't have been any point, Sylvia had fallen asleep. Quite obviously the best part of a bottle of wine was more than she could handle. I put my glass down and walked over to her.

"Sylvia," I called out.

She gave no reply – she was sparked out. The decent thing seemed to be to get her comfortable in bed and leave her to sleep although I couldn't resist lifting her skirt and having a quick peep at her lovely thighs and panty covered crotch. Shocked?, oh come on, don't tell me you wouldn't grab the opportunity. I covered her with her duvet, blew out the candles, and after stealing a lingering kiss from her lips and left her to sleep. 

----------------

Half way down the corridor I saw a well known figure – my sex mad, boot destroying, ex-girlfriend, Lillian. She was leaving the bathroom wearing a toweling robe and a towel wrapped around her head.

"Hi Lil, how's tricks?" I asked her. "You look pretty good."

"Hi H you old pervert, I'm good but I could use a good man. Could you spare me five minutes for a shag?"

The one thing about Lillian was that she knew what she liked and was never afraid to ask for it. She was also the most skilled shag I have ever had. She had perfect control of the muscles in her cunt and could milk a man dry. I couldn't in all decency decline such an offer, especially since Sylvia's delectable body had given me a hard-on.

I had gone out with Lillian for a couple of years. She had been a first rate girl friend, always lots of fun and loyal. She had gained an unjustified reputation for being a slag, mainly because of her promiscuity but she never two timed during her time with me. She once told me that she wouldn't want to fuck up a good thing. We broke up simply because I couldn't keep pace with her demands.

"Why not, as long as you promise not to crap on me."

"Cunt," she replied with mock disgust, "I've just had dump and I'm completely empty, OK?"

She led the way into her room. Lillian was basically a slob. Her bed was unmade, dirty underwear was scattered across the floor – a real dump. 

"Hang on, I must sort my clothes for the morning before I forget. Strip off while you wait." she told me.

Lillian rummaged through her cupboard pulling out some jeans, T shirt, bra and socks. "Shit, I need some clean knickers," she muttered. Lillian sat down on the bed and grabbed a heap of panties off the floor. She began sniffing the crotch of each in turn before dropping them on the floor.

"I must have a clean pair somewhere amongst this lot."

I looked at her in amazement. I found the sight of a woman sniffing her own panties both arousing and shocking. Lillian saw my expression.

"For fucks sake H, what's the problem? How else am I supposed to tell which are clean. You like the taste of my cunt, why should I be disgusted by it?"

She had a good point but the sight remained in my mind.

She finally found a pair which passed her sniff test.

"They're clean," she said and threw them onto the desk with the other clothes. "I'll have to do some washing tomorrow." She peeled off her robe and stood naked in front of me.

"OK, I've got a cunt which needs fucking before it heals up," she hissed as she grabbed my cock in both hands.

I say one thing for Lillian, she was in lovely condition. A brunette, she had a tight, all over tanned body with firm B cup tits and nipples like organ stops – constantly erect. She had shaved her pubic hair and her labia were visible, hanging down like a spaniel's ears. She had a tendency to lubricate heavily and I could see two streams of juice dribbling down her inner thighs from her cunt. She knelt down and began giving me one of the finest blow jobs in the world. She could suck the chrome plate off a motorcycle exhaust pipe.

The two years I had been with her had been more of a roller coaster ride than a love affair. Lillian lived life at a terrifying pace. She was great company, a beautiful, witty woman and loyal but she lived life to 200%. The partying and sex were killing and I found it tough to keep up. The incident with my boots had really just been an excuse – I knew long before that our relationship could never last because of sexual burnout.

Lillian had spent many months assiduously learning to deep throat using bananas and courgettes. Now my cock is a good size, certainly well above average, but the lovely Lillian swallowed it with ease, her lips pressing firmly against my belly. Putting her hands on my butt, she pulled me firmly, in and out of her mouth. I defy any man to withstand such treatment and I felt pressure build behind my balls. Lillian felt my cock stiffen and she pulled me hard against her face, ensuring that my cock was deep in her throat as I came. With consummate skill she allowed my gushing spunk to flood down her throat.

"Good boy," she husked, wiping her lips clean with the back of her hand. "Now you'll be able to fuck me for a decent time without coming."

I needed a little time to recover so I decided it was time to give a Lillian a little head – her favorite pastime, next to fucking. Before we split she had had a full, dark bush, now she was smooth, really smooth. There wasn't the slightest hint of stubble.

Lillian always had a strong scent and even though she had just had just had a bath, she had a powerful and deeply arousing smell.

"Fuck, you smell good," I told her. "If I could bottle this I would make a fortune."

Lillian gave a chuckle and pushed her cunt against my mouth. Her clit was large and erect and slipped into my mouth like a tiny cock. She grunted with pleasure and began fucking my mouth with slow, deep strokes. She gripped my head firmly between her hands and fucked my face fiercely. My mouth was flooding with her juices, filling my senses with her pungent musk. My cock was rigid again, not that Lillian was ready for a fucking – she was ready to come. Gasping and moaning she came, her body shuddering. I pushed her onto the bed, pulled her legs apart and forced myself into her. No finesse, just brutality. Lillian loved it, crying out with a combination of pain and pleasure as my cock bottomed out, pushing hard against her cervix. She lifted her legs high onto my shoulders, coaxing every last millimeter into her. Her cunt was gloriously tight.

"Fuck me lover. Make me bleed with pleasure."

Lillian always did have an interesting way with words. I complied with her request, thrusting hard into her. In spite of her blow job soon I felt a pleasurable pressure in my groin. I rammed hard into her, pressing my cock hard against her cervix as I came, as if I could fill her body with my juices. With a howl Lillian came too.

We slumped on the bed, hearts pounding. My cock slipped out. Most women complain bitterly when they have to lie in the the wet spot in bed. Not Lillian.

"Oooh, so much spunk," she sighed. "I love it when it dribbles down my crack. We're good together, 'H', why don't we give it another try?"

"I can't afford another pair of boots," I told her. "Anyway, I can't live at the same pace as you."

"Pig," Lillian replied with a wry grin. "Sorry about those boots, they were really cool. Oh well, there are a couple of freshers who have decent cocks, I'll have to train them up, mind you, they don't have your technique. You're the best shag, ever."

I felt a surge of pride. Being given the accolade of being a great shag was praise indeed from a lady like Lillian.

"Oh, talking of freshers, didn't I see you leaving F18 where that cute blond lives?" she grinned.

"Sylvia? Yeah, I met her on the train from London and I was briefing her on the place," I replied blandly.

"Yeah right," Lillian grinned. "and did the briefing involve a little horizontal tango in bed?"

"No, she's a nice kid but its her first time away from home and needs a little support."

"And you're the man to give it," Lillian laughed before pausing and staring at me strangely.

"Hey, you fallen for her," she gasped, "I can see it in your eyes."

"Steady on, I've only just met her but yeah she is sort of sweet," I conceded.

"I'm glad," Lillian replied with short laugh, "you're a decent guy H and a great shag, she could do a lot worse than you."

I couldn't help notice her laugh was a little brittle but thought nothing of it 

------------------

Saturdays are sacrosanct for me. I have a rigid and immutable routine. Up at 8:30 first job is to buy a paper and some bread rolls from the grocery shop up the road. Back to my room, I then brew a huge jug of coffee, put on some cool sounds and read the paper for two hours.

I had just settled down when there was a tap on the door. Muttering under my breath I opened it. It was Sylvia, looking stunning in body hugging jeans and a white T shirt which showed off her superb tits.

"Come in," I smiled. I grabbed a mug, "coffee?"

"Please," she replied with a smile as she settled on my bed.

"Go a hangover?" I asked.

"No, but I certainly slept well. Oh yes, and who put me to bed?" Her voiced hardened.

"I can't tell a lie, it was me."

"I suppose you took advantage of me while I was asleep to cop a feel or have a look up my skirt?" Sylvia met my eyes. She wasn't smiling.

I had a nasty feeling of Deja Vue – was she going to flip her lid again. I decided to try and joke my way out of it.

"I had my eyes closed the whole time," I replied grinning.

"Surely not! You mean you didn't cop a quick feel of my tits or a quick rummage in my knickers? Do you like real blonds? You didn't check my pussy out to see if it smelled nice?" she replied with dead pan sarcasm, her eyes boring into mine.

My mouth hung open as I groped for a reply.

"Gotcha!" she suddenly shouted and burst into laughter. "You're a good teacher, you told me to stand up for myself and I decided to try it out."

"Nice work," I told her, feeling relieved. "But since you asked, your pussy was a bit too smelly."

In spite of her resolve Sylvia blushed, her hand covering her mouth in shock

"S...surely not! I wash every day!"

"Gotcha back," I grinned.

"Pig!!"

Sylvia blushed, and stood up. She turned and leaned against the window ledge and looked out the window. I had a perfect view of her superb rear, snugly wrapped in her jeans. "She should have a health warning printed on her rear," I speculated. 

"I met a girl in the kitchen this morning," she said in a muted voice. "Her name was Lillian."

I felt a mild thrill of alarm. "Oh shit, what has Lillian told her?" I thought.

"She said she saw you coming out of my room last night. She asked if we were an item."

"What did you tell her?" I asked.

"I told her no, we'd only just met. You know what she said? She said that I'd be a fool to let you escape. She'd let you go once and regretted it. She said you were a diamond, a real catch and the best screw in town."

Sylvia turned at looked at me strangely.

"She then said something odd and left the room."

"What did she say?"

"She said 'whatever you do, don't mess up his boots'. She was the girl who spoiled your boots, wasn't she?"

I grinned ruefully, "Yeah, she was."

"You know I think she still loves you," Sylvia replied, a little sadly.

I shook my head.

"Let me tell you a little about Lillian. She's a great girl, loads of fun and I count her as one of my closest friends but love isn't in her vocabulary. She lives for sex and is quite happy to shop around for it."

"Oh that's so sad!" Sylvia gasped, sitting down on the bed. "Everyone needs to love."

"True and I'm sure Lillian will find hers in due course but until then she's happy enjoying herself."

"Hmmm, perhaps," Sylvia pondered aloud. She grabbed a cushion from my bed and sat in the corner, hugging it to her chest.

"H, did you really smell my pussy last night?" she asked after a moments pause.

"No, I was winding you up," I replied. "I was tempted though."

"Tell me, why do men like the smell of women's pussies? Mine always smells sort of pissy to me."

"I suppose its all to do with pheromones," I surmised. "Those little chemical messages which make us want to have sex. Did you know that experiments have shown that women can identify shirts which belong to their partners just by smelling them? I love giving women oral and every one I've tried has had a subtle but different smell and taste."

"Taste? Yuk!" Sylvia grimaced. "That isn't very nice nor healthy. What about all those germs?"

"Assuming the woman doesn't have anything nasty like a sexually transmitted disease and she washed regularly, there's not real problem. Also don't forget, a woman's pussy is self cleaning. "

"Yeah but they ooze and leak. How could anyone want to lick a woman there?"

"Only a dirty woman has a nasty fishy smell. Normal pussy juice has a clean, musky and sometimes mildly acidic taste. Haven't you been tempted to taste yourself when you masturbate."

"No, I've been tempted but never had the courage."

I wondered if Sylvia had some body image issues, I tried a shot in the dark.

"Tell me, do you anthropomorphise your body?"

"How do you mean?" Sylvia asked.

"Do you give your body parts names? Just like the gamekeeper's cock in the novel "Lady Chaterley's Lover" is called John Thomas."

"No, I can't say I have. Why would I want to do that?"

"It helps you get a good self image. I had a girlfriend who called her tits Pinky and Perky after the two puppet pigs. Lots of people call breasts "puppies". "




Even Teachers Need to Learn



"Lets play a little game, How would you describe your breasts if they were people?"

Sylvia sipped her coffee and thought for a while.

"Friendly, comforting, honest. Someone I think most people would like. Nice people," she replied, smiling.

"Nice, you're getting the idea. Now what about your pussy?"

"Hmm, trickier. Cute, inexperienced, a little lonely, wistful. A lost little girl."

"Sounds like you're describing yourself."

Sylvia smiled sadly, "yes you're right. Now your turn, describe your thingy. Does it have a name."

I had no trouble with this, my mates and I had all given our cocks pet names when we were are school.

"Well his name is Eric. He's a steadfast, reliable friend who likes to perform to the best of his abilities and please others. He's gregarious and not racist. He can be mischievous, choosing to misbehave at the most inconvenient times but he rarely lets me down. Others who have met him consider him to be handsome and of acceptable appearance," I replied, laying it on a little thickly.

"How does he misbehave?"

"He can get stiff at the most unexpected times without good reason. You don't know how embarrassing it can be to spot a pretty girl and get an instant boner at the wrong moment."

Sylvia grinned in amusement.

"You know it's strange hearing about sex from a man's point of view. I've never been able to discuss sex with anyone else."

"What about showing your body? You showed me your breasts last night, how did you feel about that?"

"Horribly brave. I don't think I could have done it if I hadn't drunk so much wine. But I'm glad I did it."

"Hmm, tell me why do think you find it hard to show your body to another person? From what I've seen you've got all the correct bits in the right places. Your body is in first class condition and is the sexiest I've ever seen."

Sylvia blushed although I suspect it was with pleasure from my compliments.

"Thanks H, that's the nicest thing anyone has said about me."

She paused, sipping her coffee and pondering. 

"To answer your question, I don't know. Shyness is the easy answer but I'm not sure what that implies. It's probably more of a case of fear of ridicule. When I had the episode at the dance everyone laughed at me, perhaps I'm afraid it will happen again. Also I have a bit of a belly on me."

I smiled at her.

"The human body is a funny looking thing if you consider it dispassionately. All sorts of odd lumpy or wobbly bits. But its also a thing of beauty and given that every body is unique, who is to say that any particular body is ridiculous?"

"You know," I philosophised, "there's a lot of misunderstandings which can easily be cleared up if we are but honest about what we like and want. If a woman wants something in particular done to her then she should ask for it, plain and simple. The repressed days of Victorian attitudes must have been a disaster – the idea of the woman laying back, opening her legs and thinking of England. It makes me cringe. I for one would only have sex with a woman who wants it."

"You must be a considerate lover," Sylvia sighed with a doe-like look in her eyes.

"Nah, it's just common sense," I replied. I hated hero worship of any kind. "You should try and treat your body as a special friend, you'll be surprised how much more comfortable you'll feel."

Sylvia nodded and sat pondering.

"How many women have you tasted?" She asked after a while.

I made a swift mental count.

"Five, if I recall correctly."

"It's so unfair, I haven't had any men and here you are so experienced." Sylvia pouted.

"It isn't a race you know. Anyway, genetics and evolution are against you - women tend to be very particular about who they mate with. That is except for Lillian," I smiled. 

"Did they all enjoy it?"

"I think so. Take my word for it, the effect of a tongue on a clit or cock is out of this world. You'll be surprised what you can do with a well trained pair of lips!"

"Oh," Sylvia whispered.

The music had stopped so I got up to change the record. "Is there any particular music you enjoy?" I asked.

"Do you have any Moody Blues records? I really enjoy their stuff."

My collection of vinyl was pretty extensive and I pulled out my copy of "Threshold of a Dream."

Sylvia smiled as the room filled with sound and we sat back in silence, enjoying the music. It was a comfortable silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. Things were cool until we reached "Never Comes the Day." You know how certain pieces of music invoke an emotional response or send a shiver down your back? Well "Never Comes the Day" had that effect on me. As it turned out, it had the same effect on Sylvia.

"Oh I love this track," Sylvia sighed. "It always turns my insides to jelly."

I looked across at her. She was chewing at her lip and her hands fiddled at the edge of her T shirt. Something was on her mind. I left her in peace, guessing that she would tell me soon enough.

"H?" she finally spoke, in a whisper. "W... would you give me oral sex... now?"

Her face was flushed, she was clearly embarrassed to ask. I got up and sat beside her. I put my arm around her shoulders.

"If you're really sure, it would be a pleasure," I told her.

"Yes please, I want to know what its like."

"Stand up," I told her.

I gently peeled her T shirt and bra off, revealing her amazing breasts. They bounced gently resisting gravity. I unbuttoned her jeans and eased the zip down, the back of my fingers rubbing down her soft, warm stomach. She kicked off her slippers and I peeled her jeans off, leaving her in just her white panties. She laid back on the bed.

There was a certain vulnerability about Sylvia as she lay, waiting for me. Her body was smooth and pale, her skin translucent so that her veins were visible as pale blue lines snaking across her body. Her hands lay at her sides and her legs very slightly apart. Her breasts, making only the slightest concession to gravity, had flattened. Her face was pink with mild embarrassment and still she gnawed at her lip.

"I want you to close your eyes, relax and enjoy everything I'm going to do. I won't hurt you in any way and I want you to say if there's something you don't like. Equally, tell me if there's something you particularly like or want me to do. I knelt and took her foot gently in my hand. Sylvia gave a slight shiver at my touch. Her foot was tiny, it's sole slightly dirty from where she had been walking bare footed. I gently stroked it, taking care not to tickle. She gave no indication of disliking it so I gently kissed her toes before slipping her big toe into my mouth.

"Oh!" Sylvia gasped, before sighing loudly and smiling.

Next to pussy, one of my favourite smells is a woman's foot. I'm not keen on really dirty feet which are smelly, rather I like that hint of sweat which a recently bathed foot has. Sylvia's foot was perfect and I carefully and thoroughly sucked and licked every square millimeter, gently caressing her leg while I did. By the time I moved onto her other foot, her breathing had deepened just a little, suggesting that she was beginning to get turned on.

I gave her other foot equally thorough treatment before moving onto her legs. In those days girls weren't preoccupied with shaving their bodies as they are now, and I was pleased to see that Sylvia followed that trend. Her legs were covered with a light down of soft blond hair – so much more attractive than two day old stubble. Again I stroked and kissed her skin, moving slowly but surely to her beautiful thighs.

I felt a slight movement as Sylvia shifted and looked up to see that she held her tits in her hand and was gently and rhythmically squeezing them. Her eyes were tightly closed, her face flushed and her mouth slightly open as she panted gently. She looked good enough to eat.

Soon my nose brushed against her soft mons and I received that sharp scent of her aroused cunt. I pressed my lips against her mons, kissing her firmly.

Sylvia gasped loudly, gave a start and opened her legs. Her pantie gusset was dark with her juices and the smell of her musk was strong and exciting. I pulled her panties off, not wanting to delay any more. Her crotch was covered in a thick down of straw coloured hair which was darker where it was wet from her juices. Her labia were flushed red with arousal although her virgin cunt was tight shut, unlike Lillian's well fucked hole which opened wide at the slightest chance of a fuck.

I love most that first contact of lips and tongue on a woman's cunt. Her scent is at it's strongest before licking and spit have diluted the effect. Sylvia's taste and smell were fabulous. Clean with a mixture of musk, soap and a hint of piss – a pheromone filled nectar. She gave a gasp and started as I made first contact only to relax and sigh as my tongue slipped between her lips. As a rule I avoided touching the clit immediately. Some women who have sensitive clits need to be warmed up a little first. I therefore set about exploring every millimetre of the area between her labia. The opening to her cunt was small but very wet. I probed it with my tongue soon meeting the barrier of her hymen. Sylvia was quite certainly a virgin.

I ran my tongue up and down her slit before finally moving to her erect clit. She gasped loudly as I gripped it between my lips.

It was always a surprise to me how differently women reacted to sexual stimulation. Lillian, for example, was noisy, shouting out instructions as to what she wanted done and making more noise than the best porn stars. Sylvia on he other hand limited herself to loud sighs and moans. In a way, a more arousing sound.

As I teased her clit sexual instinct kicked in and Sylvia began moving her hips to meet my mouth. She spread her legs further and lifted them over my back. It meant a lot to me that she was obviously enjoying herself. I felt her hands on my head, gently pushing me downward towards her rear. That delighted me no end, one of my favourite pass times was rimming. Her butt hole nestled in her blond hair, a tight rose bud, begging to be licked. Sylvia shivered as my tongue touched her rear hole and she pushed my face against her. Her butt hole was delicious. Slightly sweaty with a subtle scent which gave away it's function. As I probed with my tongue her tight hole softened and relaxed allowing just a little access beyond her sphincter. It was time to up the ante.

Gently I pushed a finger against her butt hole. After a moments resistance it slid completely inside her. I returned to her clit and began sucking deeply and rhythmically. That tipped her over the edge and Sylvia began grinding her cunt hard against my mouth. With a series of gasps she came violently, her anal sphincter gripping and pulsing around my finger.

Sylvia relaxed on the bed, breathing heavily. I gently pulled my finger out and sat on the bed. Sylvia's face, neck and chest were flushed and sweating. She looked at me with a look of mild smugness.

"H! that was fabulous. Thank you so much!!"

I kissed her gently.

"The pleasure was all mine," I told her.

She licked her lips.

"So that is what I taste like," she smiled. "Quite nice. I hope my bum wasn't nasty."

"Do you mean in spite of a shit smears on your arse hairs?" I asked.

Sylvia's mouth gaped in horror.

"Really? I'm so sorry,!" she gasped, looking mortified.

"No, I'm just winding you up," I grinned. "Your bum hole was spotless."

"You sod," she gasped, punching my chest. "Stop winding me up. Now say sorry and give me a cuddle."

I stood up.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist it now shift over and make some room on the bed."

My cock was still rock hard and Sylvia noticed the bulge in my jeans.

"Did I do that?" she asked. "Is there something I can do about it?"

I lay down on the bed and wrapped my arms around her. Sylvia slid her hand under my T shirt and rested her head on my chest.

"There's plenty you could do but not today," I told her. I had every intention of depositing my sperm in all three of her lovely bodily orifices but only when she was ready. I realised that I was in love with this girl and I didn't want to fuck up by rushing."

We lay enjoying the music and each other's company. It seemed a little surreal, rather like a French underground movie, a fully dressed guy in bed with a naked girl. Strange but very pleasant. Here was this beautiful, inexperienced young girl being given lessons in love by me. I felt rather like a teacher or mentor. To be honest I rather liked the idea of guiding her to sexual fulfillment. 

"So did you like licking my bum hole? " Sylvia asked after a while.

"Did you?" I replied.

"Well it was really rather rude but yes I did."

"Well I'll confess that it's one of my favourite parts of a woman," I told her.

"Really? Why?"

"It's a long and rather bizarre story," I replied.

"Well we don't have anything else to do, spill the beans."

I sighed pondering whether I should share what was the most intimate and amazing experience of my life.

"OK, if you insist," I finally replied. "I have an older sister. Francis, or Fran as I call her, is two years older than me. She's a beautiful girl and my best friend ever. Unlike the stereotypical siblings, we never fight. She was so pleased when I was born that she would do anything for me. We grew up seriously close, we're soul mates as much as anything."

"When I was 16 we went camping one summer holiday. Mum and Dad had one tent and I shared the other with Fran. One morning I was woken up by Fran moving about in the tent. I opened my eyes to see a naked bum only two inches from my face. Fran was crouched down, trying to pull on her knickers. I could see everything, her tiny, cute bum hole surrounded by a fringe of dark hair. Her wet, slit. It was the first time I had seen a girl's naughty bits. They were so beautiful. Fran suddenly lost her balance and fell back, sitting down, on my face. For a short two seconds my nose was thrust deep into her crack and I smelled my first woman.

"Oh my god, Henry I'm so sorry," Fran gasped as she jumped off me, her face was bright red in embarrassed shock.

I had found the experience rather pleasurable and I couldn't help but smile. My broad grin gave me away.

"Were you watching?" she asked me, mortified.

I nodded.

"I'm afraid I was a nasty peeping Tom, I admitted. I saw you trying to pull up your pants. I have to admit, it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

"What did you see?" she gasped in disbelief.

"Oh your, bum, all your naughty bits, everything in fact."

"Oh god, how awful. And you though it was, beautiful?" she whispered.

I nodded. She then did a weird thing. She kissed me and whispered in my ear.

"Thankyou bro, that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me."

A week later I was sat in the lounge listening to some sounds. Mum and Dad were at work and Fran and I were at home enjoying our school holiday.

"Doing anything today?" Fran asked me as she came into the room.

My closest friends were all away so I was at a loose end.

"Nah, just chilling," I replied.

"Do you mind if I spend some time with you?" Fran asked.

I looked up at this image of beauty in a miniskirt and tight T shirt.

"The day just got 100% better," I grinned.

"Lets go to my room and chat," she suggested.

I brewed a large jug of coffee and took it to her room.

I sprawled in the chair in the corner of Fran's room and she curled up on her bed. For half an hour or so we chilled to some sounds, sipped our coffee and enjoyed each other's company.

"Henry, I wanted to ask you about what happened when we were camping," Fran began in a nervous voice.

"What exactly?"

"Well when you saw my bare bum and what you said. What exactly did you mean?"

She was gnawing her lip anxiously.

"Fran," I smiled. "What I saw was the sexiest, most beautiful sight I've ever seen. You smelled pretty good too."

"Smelled?" Fran gasped, blushing slightly.

"Well you did sit on my face," I grinned.

"Oh god, of course. I'm so sorry, I wasn't very clean there, it couldn't have been very nice."

There was a short, tense silence.

"Henry, do you think I'm beautiful?" Fran asked.

I sighed.

"Fran, I'm the last person you should ask. I'm your brother, what do I know?"

"But you're a male, you must have an opinion on women."

"I'm not an expert on women. I've never had a full time girl friend, the only naked women I've seen at those in Health and Efficiency magazine and they had their crotches air brushed out," I smiled.

I never thought I was an unattractive bloke but for some reason my luck with women was zero. Sure I had had dates but the birds I had met were never inclined to share their bodies with me. I wasn't too bothered that I was still a virgin because in spite of all the bragging that my mates did, I knew they were in the same boat as me. I knew that I would have my end away sooner or later.

You know, most people portray adolescent boys as being a torrent of seething testosterone who can't wait to shag the nearest thing on two legs with a slit between it's legs. I was no different to the next guy in that I had frequent hard-ons which needed a touch of digital manipulation but I was actually not frantically desperate to lose my virginity. 

"Are you a virgin?" Fran asked.

I nodded with a grin. "But not through lack of trying!"

"I must say I'm surprised, you're a cute guy," Fran smiled. "I'm a virgin too."

I poured more coffee, mustering my thoughts.

"OK Fran, tell me what the problem is."

Fran began to sob.

"Oh Henry, when I see what my friends look like I feel so ordinary. They all get lots of boyfriends but I never have any. Why don't boys like me, is it because I'm ugly? The other girls at school think I'm a lesbian because I haven't had sex with any boys."

To be honest I was amazed. Putting on one side that Fran was my sister and my best friend, I always thought she was a real foxy girl. She had a cute almost elfin face, long wavy brown hair, slim with a decent sized pair of breasts. The fact that here she was suffering a crisis of confidence with tears running down her cheeks was frankly heart breaking. I gave her a hug and let her sob on my shoulder for a while.

"What happens when you go out on dates?" I asked.

"The boys seem to think only about sex. As soon as we go into the cinema they try and cop a feel or stick their hands up my skirt. I want sex but only if I like the boy and when I'm ready. I don't want to have a quick and messy shag in the back of a car."

"How can I help, snuggles?"

'Snuggles' was a pet name I used with Fran when I was being particularly intimate with her.

"W... would you look at me and tell me what you think of my body?" she asked.

"I can see what you look like, you look fine." I replied.

"No, really look at my body, the same way you did in the tent."

"You mean nude?" I asked, shocked.

Fran nodded.

"If you want snuggles but I have no experience to base an opinion on."

"I don't mind," Fran told me. "Just pretend you're not my brother, just a boy. Tell me which bits are good and which bits are not."

"Are you sure this is right? It doesn't sound proper that I should be checking out my sister's naughty bits," I grinned. Things were freaking me out big time.

"Henry, much that I love you, we won't be having sex. I know all about incest. I just want you to treat me like a piece of meat if you want, and tell me your opinion. It meant a lot that me sitting on your face didn't gross you out, please help me some more."

"Ok," I sighed as I sat on her bed.

"Feet first."

I took hold of her foot and examined it carefully. I spoke my conclusions out loud in a 'professorial' style.

"Hmmm, a small, perfectly formed foot, nicely moist without being excessively sweaty. The nails are neatly cut and unvarnished. Each toe has a tiny and rather attractive cluster of dark hairs just above the nail and the area between each toe is free from nasty fluff or crud."




Even Teachers Need to Learn



I lifted her foot and smelled it – hell I was getting aroused, her feet were good enough to eat.

"Hmmm, a delicate smell of sweat, nicely arousing and in no way repugnant."

Throughout my examination Fran had watched me with obvious discomfort. She was finding my detailed scrutiny more than a little difficult to handle.

"My conclusions, snuggles my dear, is that you have painfully gorgeous feet which I find almost unbearably arousing," I grinned and gave each foot a kiss.

"Oh by the way, my reward is to get to kiss every part I find satisfactory, OK?" Fran blushed and smiled her acquiescence.

"Moving on we have the legs, we have two of them as one might expect, one on each side, which is somewhat fortunate. They are long, graceful and lightly tanned. The skin is soft and silken although it is clear to the observer that the subject has a tendency to be hirsute. It has been some time since the last depilation and a light stubble can be detected. The patellae on this particular subject are pleasantly rounded and extremely attractive. There is no prospect of these legs winning a knobbly knees contest. The thighs are firm and smooth to the touch although adequate examination of their upper reaches is somewhat inhibited by the presence of a denim mini skirt. In summary, given adequate control of hair growth, these legs are fine specimens.

Fran's embarrassment had been replaced by an almost constant giggling.

"Patellae! Did you swallow a dictionary?" she shrieked with mirth. "Oh god, I wet myself, wait I need to pee."

Fran rushed from the room, clutching her crotch.

On her return Fran tossed her panties into her linen basket. "Well done bro, you're the first guy to make me wet my knickers," she muttered in mock disgust. "I'll make you wash them later."

"If madam is finished may I resume my examination?" I asked as she sat on the bed.

"The subject's face is thin, almost efin with fine features. The long, soft brunette hair is offset by the paleness of the face. The lips are pale, unpolluted by lipstick and remarkably soft. Her eyes are a beautiful green and her long eyelashes would make a giraffe envious. The ears are small, unpierced, clean with no nasty deposits of wax. The subject is obviously scrupulous with her cleanliness. In conclude that the subject is an extremely pretty specimen who should be admired by all who see her.

I kissed Fran on the lips. What was intended to be a short peck suddenly became much more as she kissed back. Her eyes shone.

"The hands are small, the fingers dainty with long, beautifully trimmed nails. The palms are a little moist, probably due to an excess of adrenalin in the subject's bloodstream brought on by low level stress. The arms are thin with a light dusting of fine dark hair. The axillae suffer from the same lack of attention as the legs. There is a significant stubble due to the regrowth of hair since the last depilation. There is no evidence of heavy deodorant use but the axillae nevertheless have a pleasant odour of soap and body musk. I would advise either a more scrupulous control of hair to ensure a smooth contour or alternatively complete abstinence from hair removal. The observer prefers the latter option, I would add."

I kissed each of Fran's hands.

"You like hairy armpits?" Fran asked in surprise.

I nodded. "Yes I prefer the natural look to stubble."

"Would the subject now please remove her shirt and brassiere?" I asked reverting to the play acting.

Fran undressed without hesitation. I felt my heart begin to thump and my mouth dry up as I saw her naked breasts. I began to speak but couldn't, I took drink of coffee to wet my mouth. This wasn't wasted on Fran.

"Should I take that reaction as a thumbs up?" she grinned.

"If the subject will desist from trying to influence the examination then I will continue. The neck is sinuous and smooth leading the chest. The breasts are full achieving a good balance, there being one on each side. There is little indication of sag at this time although old age and childbearing will no doubt lead to them becoming pendulous."

"Pig!" Fran hissed in feigned outrage.

I cupped Fran's tits in my hands. For the first time I experienced the wondrous softness of the female breast. Her nipples stiffened as my hands brushed over them."

"The nipples are large being approximately one and quarter inches in diameter. They are a delicate pinkish brown in colour and react readily to the touch becoming erect. The breasts are delightfully soft, almost identical in size and perfect examples of their type. The back and stomach are smooth and muscular. The navel is on the type known as an "inny" and is clean and well maintained."

"The subject's chest is a thing of rare beauty and quite capable of making grown me weep with desire."

"Do you mind if I kiss your breasts?" I asked Fran, for the first time uncertain.

"Yes please," she whispered.

A light kiss on each nipples was enough to make my head swim. Fran removed her skirt without any prompting.

"Finally we reach the abdomen, posterior and genitalia. The gluteus maximae are firm and soft with no indications of cellulite. The mons is heavily hirsute although there are strong indications that the soft, dark hair has been trimmed – presumably to promote intimate hygiene. The genitals are moist and have a pleasant musk odour. The observer's experience with the female body is insufficient to allow deeper analysis of the genitalia."

I looked at Fran in mute request for a final kiss. She smiled and nodded. I thought my heart would explode as I gave her a light kiss on her pubic bone. I sat back exhausted and aroused beyond belief.

"You said some pretty nice stuff there bro," Fran finally spoke. "Did you mean them?"

"If I wasn't your brother, snuggles, I would murder to be your bloke. As far as I can see, there is nothing about you that is anything less than perfect."

Fran smiled shyly.

"If you'll take advice from an inexperienced 16 year old, I wouldn't worry about your appearance. You have all the necessary attributes in a abundance to attract a partner and I am quite convinced you will find the right male in due course. Now please put on some clothes before I blow a fuse."

------------------

"Oh my god, that was so weird," Sylvia sighed after I finished. "So did you and your sister er... do it?"

"It wasn't about sex between Fran and me. It was all about me giving her the reassurance she needed. I won't deny that Fran is a beautiful woman but sex with me was the last thing she needed."

"Did your reassurance work?"

"Well lets put it this way. Fran is now a happy, well adjusted 26 year old who lives life to the full and has all the sex she wants. She met her "ideal man" when she was 20 and they had a two year relationship before she realized that he wasn't her ideal. He bored her crazy with his love of football and beer. She now prefers to be a free agent."

"What she doesn't know is how profoundly my experience with her molded my attitude towards women and their bodies. It did me more good than a thousand fumbling knee tremblers behind the bike shed," I admitted. "I have a lot to thank Fran for."

--------------------

I was sat in my room reading one evening when there was a tap on the door. It was Sylvia looking very upset and red eyed.

"What's up?" I asked as I let her in.

"Oh Henry something awful has happened," she cried and burst into tears.

I sat her down in a chair and poured her a drink.

"Lillian came to see me last night," she began. "She was a little drunk and told me she needed to talk. She asked me how I was getting on with you and I told her we were seriously dating. She was so sad, she began crying. She said she was pleased for me and how she had been the most stupid girl in the world."

"At first she wouldn't explain what she meant but she finally admitted that she had been a fool to lose you. She told me that she loved you but never had the courage to tell you and now it was too late."

To say I was surprised was an understatement. I had always seen our relationship as two consenting adults enjoying each other. We dated, partied and fucked but that was all. Certainly I liked Lillian a great deal, she had a lot going for her, but love was never on the cards. She certainly gave no indication of it.

"What was she like when she left you?" I asked, suddenly concerned.

"That's what is so awful, she wouldn't stop crying, she was so distraught. She kept repeating that she was a fool and a failure."

I had a nasty feeling.

"Let's go and see her," I told Sylvia.

Lillian's door was locked but we were able to get a key from the hall porter. The room was in darkness but I could just see Lillian sprawled on her bed, comatose. She didn't respond to our attempts to wake her and her pulse was weak.

"Phone for an ambulance!" I told the porter.

--------------------

"Hi H," Lillian whispered as I approached her bed. Her face looked pale with a yellow tinge and she looked so tiny in the hospital bed. She wore a white hospital gown and had two drips in her arms. I sat down beside the bed.

"Sorry about all the fuss, H, it was an accident."

I looked at her, confused.

"I had a head ache from too much booze and took some paracetamols. I think I took too many," she explained.

"Sylvia told me about your chat," I said.

"Oh!" Lillian sighed, a little crestfallen. "She wasn't supposed to do that. I'm sorry H, I've been such an idiot. I don't blame you for our breaking up, I should have had the courage to tell you how I felt. I've never been much good at unburdening my soul on people."

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

"Insecurity. I was frightened with what you would say. When it comes down to it, I'm a scared little girl, H. All this partying and sex is to hide what I feel."

I felt guilty as hell. Here was this girl who was too scared to tell me she loved me and I couldn't reciprocate the feelings.

"H, I've loved you like forever. I know you don't feel the same, H, but that's OK. I think there is some affection there."

I nodded slowly.

"You don't have a relationship with someone for 2 years without a degree of affection," I told her. "I can't say I'm in love with you but my feelings are the next best thing."

Lillian gave a wan smile.

"That's good enough for me, mate. A long as you don't hate me. Anyway, things are going change when I get out of here. I've had a reality check and I'm going to get my arse in gear. First job will be to get my degree. I'm going to cut back on the partying and be a good little girl."

We sat talking a little while until Lillian nodded off. I left her to sleep.

There was a doctor talking to Lillian's parents in the corridor as I left. I had met her parents a few times, they were really cool people. Lillian's mother was crying. Freddy, her father greeted me with a grim smile.

"Good to see you, my boy."

"I've just been talking to Lillian," I told him. "She seems pretty upbeat and looking forward to getting released."

Freddy looked grave. "Things are bad. Lillian has a history of heavy drinking and the overdose has hit her system badly. She has severe liver failure and will only last a few days without a transplant. Her prospects are bleak to say the least.

"But she looks well enough," I protested, irrationally.

"Paracetamol is a nasty drug," the doctor interrupted. Too much can cause liver damage. Lillian's drinking has done her no favours and the damage to her liver is too severe. She also took some other, recreational drugs, and these aren't helping. I'm sorry but I will be surprised if she lasts a week."

"What will happen to her?" I asked.

"Toxins will build up in her body as her liver fails. These will cause confusion, coma and finally death. I have every reason to believe that her kidneys are failing too. The saving grace is that she'll feel no pain."

I spent most of the next week at the hospital. Little by little I could see Lillian deteriorate. Her stomach was swollen, her jaundice worsened and she became confused. I spent as much time offering support to her parents. Lillian remained optimistic throughout, talking about the plans she had when she left hospital and how she would travel Europe once she had finished her degree. It was difficult to remain strong for her during that time.

The end came on the Friday evening. Lillian lapsed into a coma as her brain became overwhelmed with toxins and she died just before midnight.

I had never experienced grief before and my emotions buried me. Guilt is an horrific feeling. I felt overwhelmingly sorry for not understanding the extent of Lillian's feelings towards me. I felt completely responsible for her death. I wanted to speak to her, to apologise for everything but I couldn't. There were so many things I wished I had said and done. Never had I felt so helpless and frustrated. The biggest irony was that the big shot teacher, the sage advisor of students and women alike had fucked up big time. When it came down to it and all my fine advice, I was a stupid, ignorant fool. The only solace I could think of was booze. I locked to door to my room, turned off the light and set about wrapping my body around a bottle of Jack Daniels.

------------

There could be no doubt that Lillian's death threw my normally safe and ordered life into complete turmoil. The agony of her death was never far from me. I could be having a pleasant, enjoyable day when a single thought would bring the pain of grief back. Her parents asked me if I would like to contribute to her eulogy at the funeral. Normally I would have loved to tell everyone what a fine girl she was but I felt like a Judas who had betrayed her and I had no right to stand there celebrating her life. Anything good I said would be hypocrisy. Instead I lurked at the rear of the church, sneaking away as soon as the service had ended.

I hadn't seen Sylvia for some time, my heart just wasn't interested in any social liaisons. I avoided her as much as I could hoping to avoid a confrontation. One day she met me in the corridor as I was opening my room door.

"H, could I have a word please?" she asked, ever polite.

I let her into my room.

"I haven't seen you for a while, is everything alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," I lied, being careful to leave any affection out of my voice.

"Would you like to go out tonight?" she asked. "For a drink and maybe some food?"

I really had no time for this.

"Sylvia, I don't think this is a good idea. You need to find a decent boyfriend who will treat you properly. I'm not the bloke you think I am. I let down Lillian, I'll do the same to you. Now please go!"

She looked at me in dismay, the hurt scarring her face. She turned and left the room without a word.

I sighed and settled down with an evening with my best fried, Jack Daniels.

------------

A tap on my door woke me. I glanced at my clock to discover that it was noon. I groaned and rolled out of bed. I had a hangover, I stank and needed a shave. It was Sylvia at the door.

"Hi H, remember me?" she asked, smiling. 

It had been a month since I had given her the brush off and I had settled down into an existence of numb solitude. I carried out my tutoring tasks and managed to complete my thesis but apart from that I became a hermit.

"I've brought someone to see you."

"Hello little brother, what have you been up to?" came the soft voice of my sister as she hugged me.

I hadn't seen Kath for a year and the joy of seeing her coupled with my frayed emotions were too much for me. I had never been a guy who readily showed emotion but I cried for the first time in 15 years. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and sobbed my heart out.

"It's ok babe," Kath whispered as she comforted me, "we're here to help."

The girls tidied my room and made coffee while I showered and cleaned myself up.

So there I was, sat on my bed facing two beautiful young women. 

"Sylvia and I have had a long chat and we both agree that you need some help," Kath began.

I was more than a little confused about the turn of events. How the hell had Sylvia got in contact with Kath."

"Sylvia was at the end of her tether with you and she got my address from mum and dad. Now what is going on?"

I really didn't have the energy to lie so I told the girls everything, explaining my guilt at letting down Lillian. They patiently listened until I ran out of steam."

"Listen to me bro, you did me a big, big favour years ago which changed my self image and life. You gave me the confidence to live my life."

"Yes, and you've helped me in so many ways," Sylvia added. "Kath and I have had a long detailed chat and we know all that you've done to help?"

"Everything?" I asked.

The girls grinned. "Every little detail."

"Oh shit," I muttered.

"Bro, you are fundamentally a decent guy but you've lost your way. You don't have the monopoly in wisdom, you're the same as anyone else. You need help now and we're the girls to give it."

"What do you plan to do about your feelings after Lillian's death?" Kath asked.

"What can I do? I fucked up, I let her down and now that I want to tell her how sorry I am, I can't. End of story."

"We think you should write Lillian a letter telling her how you feel, all your regrets, all the things you never told her and read it to her at her grave."

I looked at her as though she had gone mad.

"Do you believe in life after death?" Kath asked me.

"I don't know," I replied. "I've never thought about it."

"Well if there is life after death then she'll hear what you have to say. If there isn't then there's nothing you can do anyway. You have to deal with this, you can't spend the rest of your life worrying about "what if?"

She made a sort of sense.

"OK, Kath, I'll try anything to end this. You two clear off shopping or something for a few hours and leave me to think.

I lay on my bed and thought for an hour, gathering my thoughts.

Then I sat down with a pad of paper. "Dear Lillian" I began and immediately crossed it out.

A new sheet of paper.

"My Dear Lillian", no fuck it that's too pompous. 

A new sheet of paper.

"Hey Lil, remember me?" Better. Pretend we're together, chatting. Then the mental sluices opened.

"I guess you'll know why I'm writing. Basically I've been a total fuck up and I need to tell you about it. The two years we had together were pretty damned amazing. You're the coolest bird I ever met. Cute, no fuck it not cute, bloody gorgeous. Cute is for fluffy babes, you were badass in the nicest possible sense. You had attitude, great attitude.

You were beautiful with a great body, the best tits I had ever seen, bright, intelligent, fun loving. OK lets say you're pretty well perfect. Have no doubt babe, you were too good for me. We had a great time together.

We were good together but we never talked about our feelings. I had a deep affection for you but I never thought in terms of love although I'm sure that love was in my mind. I did have one problem and that was the speed of our life together. I couldn't keep up and that was really what was behind our break up. The incident with my boots was really an excuse. Fuck it, a pair of boots is nothing compared to a life with a girl like you. I'm sorry I took the coward's way out, I should have had the balls to give the real reason.

Even when we split, I didn't have the intelligence to see how you felt. Even the last time we met I noticed your manner was strained but didn't think anything of it. What it all boils down to is that I let you down. I wasn't your friend, I didn't see what was coming. I feel completely responsible for what happened. I now believe that had I realized what your feelings were then our life together would have been different. There can be no doubt that my failure will haunt me for the rest of my life.




Even Teachers Need to Learn



I hope you can feel it in your heart to forgive me and that when we do finally meet again you won't kick my ass too hard.

All my love, your man.

H"

I felt a certain release as I finished writing the letter. I had opened my heart and thrown down my feelings as they emerged in my mind. I had no belief concerning life after death. I remembered nothing of went on before I was born so why should death be any different? If there is life after death shouldn't there be life before birth? I hoped that Lillian would hear me, no matter what I had to do something.

Kath and Sylvia were with me when I kneeled at the grave at the end of April and read out the letter. It was a pleasant spring day with the sun shining. As I knelt by the grave I really did feel that Lillian was there. Half way through the letter it began to rain lightly, only to stop 5 minutes later and the sun came out. We were all crying as I finished.

"See, she forgave you," Kath told me.

I looked at her confused. 

"The rain was her tears, the sun afterwards her forgiveness."

"Are you sure it's not just an April shower ," I asked her.

"I don't think so," Sylvia added. "Lillian heard you and gave her answer."

I hoped more than anything that she was right.

---------------

We went back to my room in halls afterwards. The two women went to the toilet while I poured coffee and Jack Daniels in preparation of our little, private, wake.

The girls settled down in the two armchairs leaving me sat on the bed. The room was warm and they had taken off their outer sweaters leaving Kath in a white vest and Sylvia in a T shirt.

"Well bro, how do you feel?" Kath asked me.

"Better than for a long time," I admitted. "I hope Lillian heard what I had to say, but in any event, it felt good to express my feelings openly."

"It was beautiful," Sylvia whispered.

"Sorry?" I asked, not understanding.

"You had so many nice things to say about her, I can only wish that someone says the same for me one day."

"Yes, I didn't know you had it in you," Kath grinned, stretching.

As she stretched I noticed a bush of underarm hair.

"Hey sis, what's with the bushy pits?" I asked.

"You mean these?" she replied, lifting her arms above her head.

Sylvia looked at her, a little shocked.

"Well some guy a few years ago told me that hairy pits turned him on and I took his advice."

I had to grin. "And what do your boy friends think of them?"

"Most of them hate them but I don't care, I like them," she grinned back. "I tried letting my leg hair grow but I looked like a hippy gorilla so I shave them."

"Why do you like hairy women?" Sylvia asked.

"Don't ask me," I replied. "I like big tits, hairy pits, sucking toes. They're my little fetishes which I've got for whatever reason. Come on you must have fetishes, what do you like?"

For once Sylvia didn't blush.

"OK, I'll tell you what I like. I like the smell of your body, the taste of you when we kiss. I love it when you lick my pussy and you sucking on my bum hole drives me mad. In fact everything about you drives me crazy."

Her eyes were bright with excitement as she spoke.

Well that was a conversation stopper. Even the ebullient Kath was stunned.

In spite of her boldness, Sylvia wouldn't meet my gaze. After a moment she stood up.

"Maybe I said a bit too much then, see you folks later," she muttered. And left the room.

I looked at Kath who looked amused.

"Well bro, when are you going to fuck that girl?"

"Snuggles, that girl is a 21 carat virgin. There is no way I'm going to fuck her unless she asks me to. The way my mind is at the moment, I'm not going to jump to any conclusions."

"Oh bro, you can be so stupid. When Sylvia came to see me we spent a whole evening just talking. She told me everything about you and the advice you gave her. She also told me that she had been head over heels in love with you since the day she met you on the train."

"She said nothing to me," I replied, rather lamely.

"Of course not, she's frightened how you would react. Listen don't you feel a sense of déjà vu? What was the problem with Lillian? I'll tell you. Lack of communication. Are you going to fuck up again? Tell me, do you love Sylvia?"

I paused trying to crystallise my feelings. I couldn't deny it, Sylvia was the girl for me. I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Right wait here," Kath told me and left the room. After five minutes she returned with Sylvia.

"Sylvia, do you love this idiot?" she asked.

Sylvia blushed. "Yes I do, more than anything."

"Bro, you weak brained pillock, do you love this girl?"

"Yes Kath, I'm afraid I do.

"Right so now you both know, now will you please stop fooling about and get down to the fun part of a romance?" Kath shouted, a traitorous tear running down her cheek.

With that final command and a hug Kath took her leave.

"Don't forget what I told you," she whispered to Sylvia as she left.

----------------

"Don't talk, kiss me," Sylvia told me as she pulled me onto the bed.

We separated for breath. Sylvia looked the bulge in my jeans.

"I need to do something about that," she told me, pushing me onto my back.

Her hand had slipped under my pants and was gently rubbing my pubic patch as she spoke.

Sylvia crouched up and tugged my jeans off, leaving me in my pants. She then leaned over me, kissing and nuzzling my belly and licking my navel.

"Hmmm, you smell nice," she whispered, as she tugged down my pants before burying her face in my crotch. "Now that smells even better."

My cock was semi erect and lay across my thigh like a snake. Sylvia grasped it tentatively with one hand. She rained small, gentle kisses on it, moving slowly to it's tip. Then she did something unbelievably erotic. All the girls who I had shagged always peeled back my foreskin before blowing me. Sylivia didn't. Instead she gently probed with her tongue, pushing it into the tight space between my foreskin and prepuce. I shivered at the delightful friction and gave silent thanks that I had showered earlier. The last thing she would have wanted was a cheesy cock in her mouth.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" I asked.

"No. This is the first willie I've ever touched," she grinned. "I did see a blue film once which gave me one or two ideas, though."

Sylivia returned to giving my cock her full attention. This time she took it into her mouth. Her mouth was soft and warm sending waves of pleasure through me as she bobbed her head up and down. Lillian with her deep throat was a star at giving head, but Sylvia was so much better. While Lillian had a fierce sexual intensity, there was a superb delicacy about Sylvia. Gently she sucked and nuzzled me, giving me the fiercest hardon I've ever had. Then came the master stroke. With a feather light touch she cupped my balls with her hand. Her touch was reverential, rather like an art connoisseur handling a fine piece of porcelain. I felt my juices start to rise.

"I'm coming," I warned her, giving her the chance to back off.

Sylvia gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment and continued working my cock. I swear I saw stars as I came. Each jet of juice was accompanied by exquisite pleasure as I flooded her mouth. Sylvia didn't flinch gathering every last drop in her mouth.

Finally she pulled away with a look of alarmed confusion on her face. She couldn't decide whether to spit or swallow. I jumped off the bed and grabbed a towel.

"Spit in this," I told her.

Sylvia shook her head and with a resolute look, swallowed.

"Quite an acquired taste," she gasped once her mouth was empty. "But I suppose I'll get used to it."

"I have to say Sylvia that you did an amazing job for a beginner."

"Your sister gave me a little coaching," Sylvia whispered with a giggle.

Sylvia snuggled down on my chest and gently rubbed my cock. Naturally it stiffened and was soon at full mast.

"Sorry, H, I seem to have had a nasty effect. We'll need to do something to reduce your swelling," Sylvia whispered. "Tell me H, have you ever had sex with a virgin?"

I thought for a moment.

"No I don't think I have."

"Well it looks like it's going to be a first for both of us," Sylvia smiled. "I'm a virgin and I want you to fuck me, now."

"And I promise not to shit on your boots..."