My name is Anne. I am 5' 1" with nice legs, beautiful skin, and big breasts. I was born in Detroit, but my parents moved to a little farm my dad bought in northern Michigan. 40 acres and Dad's inexperience at farming left us poor. My mother suggested taking in a lodger.
Ed had retired from farming. Although he was at least 30 years older than my parents and had a peg leg, his knowledge, rent, and ability to help out a little, caused my mother to urge Dad to accept him.
When I was six or seven, Mother gave birth to twins--by the old peg leg lodger! She tried to pass them off as my dad's, but with proof that he had married a slut, his patience gave out. He left Mother in possession of the farm, returned to Detroit and got a divorce. He had to leave me behind, until he could get a job good enough to support me. When he got a judgment to have me come to live with him, Mother tricked me into returning by saying that Ed had died and asking me to come for the funeral! I found him very much alive, and the judge said I'd voided the agreement by returning to my mother!
I participated in 4H and raised a brown Swiss dairy cow, which won a blue ribbon. I would go out into pasture with my cow and when it lay down, I'd lie against her. I also had a little black dog for a pal.
When I was 13, one day I began bleeding between my legs. I ran crying to my mother. I thought I would die. She merely got a Kotex and handed it to me with a booklet on menstruation.
When I was 16, Mother tried to trade me in marriage to Ike, a neighbor and bachelor farmer, in exchange for a TV set! That decided me to leave home. A Catholic priest helped me to find a home as a kind of live-in maid for an affluent Catholic family. I became a Catholic and transferred from public school to the Catholic school.
The principal was a nasty nun, whose wrath I studied to avoid. Fr. Coker, the pastor and superintendent, paid special attention to me. He told me not to wear shiny shoes that would reflect my panties for the boys to see. In February of my senior year, I turned 18. The following May, Pastor Coker summoned me into his office for counseling about my future. I said I was going to attend a Catholic women's college in Detroit. He thought that was "splendid" and was sure that I would excel. He ought to know, because my grades entitled me to be class valedictorian, but he disqualified me as a transfer student. He granted the honor to a girl whose parents could afford to give generously to his schools.
"Now that you will be away at college, you will be more vulnerable to lustful boys. College girls, especially those who live away from home, are free from parental supervision. You have matured physically into a shapely young woman, with a figure that is especially enticing to men. The environment of our school will be supplemented by a Catholic women's college; in fact, you will be less exposed to boys with raging hormones! Let me listen to your heart, my dear."
He knelt at my feet and pressed his ear and face against my left breast. My heart beat faster.
He rose and examined my bra with a critical eye.
"Is your bra comfortable? This is especially important for a girl with large breasts."
He ran a finger along the bottom of my bra between it and my rib cage. He pulled the straps and cups of my bra to make sure that they fit my C cup breasts properly.
'Your breasts shouldn't bounce too much when you walk or run."
He cupped and lifted each breast to test their bounce.
"How does the bra feel now?"
I was speechless.
"Most girls aren't as shapely as you, which means that the hem of your skirt rides about an inch higher. Have a seat so I can check the length of your skirt."
Although it was the era of the miniskirt & minidress, our Catholic girl's uniforms were supposed to have skirts with hems at, or about an inch above our knees, when we stood. Sitting drew my skirt about 6" above my knees. Fr. Coker studied my legs.
"Now, cross your legs. Try not to do this in front of boys."
Half of my right thigh was now bared.
"You have beautiful legs and lovely skin, Annie! Unfortunately, that means all the more temptation. It's shame to cover you skin with pantyhose, but that offers some protection."
"Now, uncross your legs. He knelt before me and putting his clammy hands on my knees, spread my legs about a foot apart.
"Both positions have advantages and disadvantages. With your legs crossed, boys can't see up your skirt. As they are now, a boy can see all the way up to your panties."
I clenched my legs together. He asked me to stand up.
"Stand up straight! Your titties should thrust forward. Are you wearing a girdle?"
Without waiting for my answer, he pinched my right buttock. Then he rubbed both of them.
"Of course, not! Schoolgirls don't usually wear girdles!" He chuckled.
"When you are away at college, however, a girdle is another protection for your virginity. Boys will be boys, with 'Roman hands and Russian fingers'! Now, let me check your reflexes."
He lifted me onto his desk. My skirt rode halfway up my naked thighs! He produced a physician's padded hammer. He was playing doctor with me! He moved my legs apart. He tapped about my knee, until he elicited a reflex kick to his arm that made him drop his little hammer. Then, he did the other knee and declared that my reflexes were excellent. He left me to slide off his desk, which caused my skirt to ride up to my hips! Then he reached between my thighs pretending to pull my hem down.
He certainly was a student of girls' bodies and attire! I was an innocent hayseed. As far as I knew, this was standard procedure for pastors in their high schools. The lecher was old enough to be my grandfather!
When I graduated, he said, "Come back to us, Anne!"
I returned to Detroit and lived with my grandparents and then with an affluent Catholic family while I attended college. My father had re-married a divorcee who owned her house. She had children, and there didn't seem space for me. Daddy was barely able to pay my tuition. I could not afford to live in a dorm. Opportunities in a women's Catholic college weren't conducive to meet men. I didn't date much; I concentrated on my studies to qualify for scholarships. Besides, the mother of the family with whom I received room and board had daily housework for me to do, including babysitting her youngest daughter when the two other daughters were busy.
On one date, the guy lunged at me in his car and tore my dress!
Another date drove us to a secluded parking spot. We did some necking. He prevailed upon me to take out his swollen penis and hold it. He urged me to grip and stroke it. Meanwhile, my pantyhose and girdle discouraged exploration on that front, so he just squeezed my breasts through the armor of my sturdy bra. As he moaned and praised my technique, I became fascinated by this male organ. It was smooth and stiff but the head was as soft and spongy as a horse's muzzle.
"Don't stop until I say!" he cried.
I felt his penis seem to convulse and a milky stream spurted a foot out of it! Amazed, I continued to grip and stroke until his organ ran down to oozing. He told me I did a wonderful job. I was aroused by satisfying him but left frustrated.
After getting my M. A. in English, I got a job teaching in a community college and moved to my own apartment. There turned out to be a lot of rivalry and back-stabbing. I'd long had difficulty sleeping, and my stressful job made me anxious about getting enough sleep. Teaching is mostly mental work, which keeps the mind going, even after the preparation at home is finished. My alcoholic landlady took up precious amounts of my free time. My doctor prescribed a sleeping pill for me. I prescribed a few strong alcoholic drinks to relax after supper and before taking the sleeping pill.
One day, I had to take my car to a garage for repair. The mechanic looked me up and down approvingly. Although I was modestly dressed in a suit with the skirt just above my knees and a little jacket over my blouse, my large breasts and plump ass could not be entirely concealed. He seemed nice enough, not overcharging me for being a woman ignorant of automobiles. When a call came that my car was ready, I said I'd have to catch a bus or a cab. I was asked to hold on, while the manager called, "Ken!" Ken would pick me up in my car and bring me to the garage to pay the bill. Ken was the mechanic I had met. He slid from behind the wheel to let me drive while he looked at my legs.
A few days later, I had finished my second strong whiskey and ginger ale and taken my sleeping pill when the phone rang. Ken the mechanic wanted to take me out for a drink. Although it was 9 p.m., I consented. Perhaps, my judgment was impaired by the alcohol. I was lonely and depressed, not realizing then that alcohol in the quantity I took is a depressant.
He picked me up in his car. Ken had already bolstered himself with a few drinks. We had two drinks. Instead of driving me home, he drove to a motel. He led me into a room. I was 24 years old and still a virgin. I must have been dazed by the drugs. I didn't care what he did, which was even better for him than when he had mentally undressed me. As soon as I got home from teaching, I always removed my girdle and pantyhose, so Ken faced few obstacles.
He had a pint of whiskey in his pocket and fortified himself for combat with another long swallow. He offered me a "snort" but I refused. I stood frozen while he stripped me naked, felt me all over and kissed me, telling me what a fantastic body I had. I felt flattered by hearing him praise my naked beauty. A man's hands caressing my body all over for the first time thrilled me with shivers of pleasure. He reached between my legs, grasped my pussy and squeezed, claiming me for his use. He led me to the bed.
I lay indifferent watching him undress and noting his stiff penis, which looked like a big weapon to spear my little vagina. He got into bed with me. I felt detached, watching myself, mildly curious about what would happen. I felt his erection rubbing against me and thought, "Soon I won't be a virgin anymore." He lay on me and began rubbing his body over mine. He mauled my breasts and sucked my nipples almost painfully erect.
