Hi! My name's Ellie. I used to live pretty wild and stupid, but then I had a baby and I decided to try and be smarter. Inside, though, I'm still as impulsive and hungry as ever. Sometimes, to help myself work through the drive without acting out, I sit down to write about it.
I wanna talk about Renee today.
So you get the picture, I'm eighteen with long dark hair and brown eyes that shift between chestnut and mahogany depending on the light. I'm in good shape, but I'm not an athlete or a model. I work hard to keep my curves fit and think I do my 36C breasts and 34-inch hips justice. I wear glasses and a nose-stud, and I almost always dress to show off cleavage.
Renee's in her early twenties. I think she's a college student, probably a junior or a senior. I don't know much about her except that she works at a local daycare and redefined my understanding of beauty.
It's embarrassing, but I can't stop looking at her. From the very first day I saw her when I was dropping my son off at the daycare, I kept stealing little glances her way. I felt obvious and silly, but I couldn't help it. I'm bi, so I'm no stranger to being attracted to girls but Renee was different.
It's not that Renee is attractive.
It's that she's utterly beautiful.
I've never understood what an elegant curve was, at least not until I saw Renee. Everything about her seems to embody elegance, grace, and shapeliness. Her entire body is exquisitely formed, like a piece of art that compells admiration. A little taller than my own 5'3", her figure seems to have been poured from glass. Her dimensions are very like my own, but flow together so that her body seems musical.
And her face.
Pretty blue eyes and perky lips, a proud nose and playful ears, crowned by soft hair in all shades of blonde. But it is the shape of her face that drives me mad. The very line of her jaw and sculpting of her cheeks. It has the same elegant curve as the rest of her body. I have never seen anything like it before.
It literally takes my breath away.
A friend of mine once told me that a sign of a truly great piece of music was that whatever arrangement you had, it sounded amazing. She's like that. From her hair to her clothes, it doesn't matter what style she's in -- casual, hippie, funky, preppy -- she looks amazing.
Today she's all business. She's got her blonde hair bulled back in the tightest, smoothest bun I've ever seen. Her makeup is a little heavier than normal, making her blue eyes seem bright and airy. She's wearing tight burgundy pants that cling to her curves, so tantalizing it's hard not to reach out and touch. Her top is white and tight to the swells on her chest, but high-throated so she shows no cleavage. Over that she's slung an open grey jacket.
I want her so bad.
I don't even know if she likes girls.
The other teacher in her room is a guy, Brad. He does like girls. He likes me, in fact. I see him checking me out all the time, a lot like I check Renee out. Brad's in his early thirties, tall and in good shape from running regularly.
In my mind, he could be a satisfying path to a more satisfying end.
It would go something like this...
I stop by the daycare during nap time. It's cold outside and I'm wearing tight jeans and a white top, but I leave my coat in the car. If my breasts get a little cold on the way in, that's only going to help.
Inside, I look for Brad. He's easy to spot. He's the guy with his eyes locked on my chest.
I give him a little smile that he can't see since he's not looking at my face, and I nod my head towards the kitchen. I walk that direction, letting my arms swing casually by my side and my hips sway with easy confidence. I look back back over my shoulder and see that he's admiring that sway. I glance at Renee, and see that she's watching him.
I smile, and go into the kitchen, shutting the door behind me. I lean against a counter and smile, holding myself so that my breasts are easy for him to find when he enters.
Only a moment later he's coming through the door, and he immediately sees them.
"Do you need something, Miss Laturne?" he asks my cleavage.
I bite my lip and nod slowly. "Badly."
"What's that, Miss Laturne?" He's still looking at my chest.
Nap time is a short window. I can't afford to play a slow, subtle game. This is all about impulse, and getting what I want. I lick my thumb and run it from my lips, down my chin, down my throat, down between my breasts, down my my belly, and coming to rest between my legs. Not subtle. "Call me Ellie."
Brad locks the door and comes up to me.
I smile, my big brown eyes sparkling behind my glasses. I smile, my lips parted just enough to show a bit of teeth and tongue.
Brad's not thinking. He's reacting to his own dream come true. He places his hands on my hips and kisses me aggressively, taking my lower lip into his mouth and sliding his tongue along the top of mine. I kiss him back. It's wet and active, and I put my hands on his strong shoulders. He's a good kisser, if a bit overpowering -- but that's what kissing a man should be like most of the time.
I guide one of his hands up to my left breast, and the other around my thigh until it's resting between my legs. Both hands are immediately responsive, groping and pawing. He has no precision or strategy, but I give him points for passion.
My hand finds its way to what is a steadily growing lump in the crotch of his khakis. A couple rubs and a squeeze and he's all mine.
He bites my lip, not too hard, and his left hand slides from my tit to my waist, started to wiggle up under my shirt back toward the breast it left.
