CHAPTER I
All semester I caught Lars Parsons looking at me in Contemporary Lit class. He always looked away in embarrassment when I caught him, but I knew that as soon as I stopped paying attention, his eyes would be on me again. Sometimes I'd make a game of it, trying to catch him staring and force him to engage with me. It never worked, his eyes always darted away and he would pretend to study his pen or his shoe. He never spoke a word to me or even acknowledged me when we passed in the hall. His eyes were a beautiful pale blue, but always hidden behind wide frame glasses. Sometimes I would watch to see if he stared at the other girls too, but he only had eyes for me.
I have a thing for the shy and awkward boys. The ones who'll grow up to be good fathers and good husbands but didn't get the memo that high school is when they're supposed to be fucking like bunny rabbits. The ones who, even at eighteen, still haven't yet figured out the rules of the game, and would be absolutely astonished to discover that a girl wants to do dirty things to them. Lars is sexy but he doesn't know it. He doesn't even suspect. He runs cross country and he's got a lean and lanky body. He plays jazz guitar and listens to Charlie Christian and Django Reinhart. He's going to Cornell in the Fall where he'll meet some prim Ivy League girl that he'll eventually marry and forget all about the girls back in Boston. In class he's so earnest and attentive, he always does the reading and even though our class is a bunch of slouches and fuck-ups, he tries to engage in serious discussions about the books.
Lars is soft-spoken, sweet and virginal. The virgins are always easy to spot. In class he was trying to make a point about a racy scene in "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" but he got all adorably flustered. After that I began to catch myself fantasizing about him. I don't know why it never happened before. Late at night, I got all hot and bothered thinking about the things I wanted to do to Lars, and had to finger myself to a convulsive orgasm before I could get to sleep. In my mind, I teased and pleasured Lars until he couldn't think straight, until he whimpered and begged for me to finish him off. After a week of this, I realized I needed to take action. In his later years, Lars might forget a lot of things, but he would never forget his night with me. A lot of boys at Rindge & Latin would never forget, so many that I'd begun to lose count.
CHAPTER II
I caught up to Lars in the hall after class. He seemed surprised that I was talking to him. "I feel kind of stupid about this," I said, eyelashes fluttering, "But I need your help." He peered at me through his glasses with those eyes. "The way I see it, you're really the only one in that class who knows what's going on." He shrugged, embarrassed but almost certainly flattered. "I still have to write that paper on 'Heart of Darkness.' Like I have no idea what I'm supposed to be getting out of the book, you know?" I paused but he didn't say anything. "You read it, right?"
"Almost through it."
"You think we can meet up sometime and talk about it?" He shuffled his feet and frowned. "Look, I promise, I'm not trying to get you to write the paper for me. I just need to discuss the book with someone who understands it."
"I can talk about it with you if you want."
He seemed to relax a little. I flirted with him briefly, doing the most of the heavy lifting myself. We agreed that he would come by my mom's apartment on Thursday evening for a chat. It works every time with these boys. They're hardwired to help out the damsel in distress. I can't begin to tell you how many of my torrid fuck sessions began as a quiet evening of academic support.
When I met Roseanne after school, I told her I had a hot date with Lars on Thursday night.
She said, "Girl, you are one dedicated slut." Maybe so, but I know what I like, and Roseanne knows that I never actually date anyone. Life is too short for all that awkwardness and insincerity, just cut to the chase, is what I say.
CHAPTER III
I'm standing in my dark bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy blue panties. The streetlights outside illuminate my face and the swell of my breasts, and the trees cast shadows across my lower body. Lars is lying on my bed fully clothed and bewildered because seconds ago I suddenly turned off the lights and took off my clothes. Marlow's journey upriver bores me and Lars has been jumpy all evening and not getting with the program. Sometimes dire circumstances require bold action. Go big or go home, as they say.
Now that I'm nude and our literary discussion is over, Lars isn't sure what to do next. He just lies stiffly on the bed trying not to stare. In fairness, it's an awkward situation for both of us, but I've been here before. The air is chill and my nipples are stiff and sensitive. I let him sneak glances at me for a while before I say anything.
"I see you staring at me in class," I whisper at him. "I know you like to look at me." He glances at me, looks away, glances again. "Why do you think I took off my clothes?" His penetrating blue eyes rest on me, hesitantly, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. They move slowly down to my breasts and lower still, to the blue delta of fabric between my thighs.
"What are you thinking right now?" I ask him.
"I don't know," he mumbles, "It's like I've imagined this, but..." The front of his Adidas track pants bulge as he stiffens beneath.
"Tell me what you imagined." He thinks about it for a moment. Every boy has their own particular kinks and desires. Few are honest about them.
"Touching you," he replies at last.
"Touching what?" I move closer to him.
"The curve of your hips." I take his hands and place them on my hips. His hands are warm and they slowly caress me, staying respectfully above the waistline of my panties. I feel my heartbeat quicken and an insistent tickle of arousal slowly spreads between my thighs, but I don't want to move too fast, not yet.
"What else do you imagine touching?"
"Your belly." He sits up and gently traces his fingers along the contours of my stomach. He handles me softly and gently, like I'm made of glass.
"Tell me about it."
"You wear that black cut-off shirt sometimes with those low-rider jeans." He pauses to admire the silver ring in my navel. "Sometimes you wear this but not always."
"You think about me in my cut-off shirt when you jack off?" There is a pause.
"Y-yes. Sometimes."
"When I touch myself, I think about you, too." I reach down and tweak my clit through my dampened panties for emphasis. "Does that surprise you?"
"Yes" he says. My fingers feel nice on my clit, reassuring. His hands begin to move toward the upward swell of my breasts.
"What else do you imagine?" I ask him. He stops and looks up into my eyes.
"I think about your thighs" he says, a little more confident now, catching the rhythm. "When you wear short shorts and cross your legs in class." Never breaking eye contact, he moves his hands down to my thighs and begins to massage them, working his fingers up to my inner thighs and ever-so-slowly inward. I can feel the muscles loosening and relaxing at his touch. My pussy aches sweetly in anticipation and I involuntarily arch my back and let out a sigh, clutching my breasts tightly and teasing my swollen nipples lightly with my fingertips. Lars is encouraged by my reaction; I feel his fingers probing delicately beneath the fabric of my panties. I have to remind myself to dial it back before all my best laid plans go straight out the window.
I pull off my soaked panties and move his hand down between my legs, so he can feel how wet he's gotten me. A look of realization crosses his face. Before he can react further, I climb on top of him. Straddling him, I pull his t-shirt off over his head, which sends his glasses skittering across the room.
"You ever imagine me touching you?" I ask, massaging the solid bulge in his track pants for a few moments and then sliding my hand into the waistband as he tenses in anticipation. His cock twitches in my grasp; it's a warm living thing, rigid and straining to escape its confinement. Climbing off him, I slowly lower his pants and the briefs underneath, inch by inch, heightening the anticipation that his manhood is about to be put, finally and irrevocably, on full display. As his pants slide over his thighs, his fully erect cock springs out and falls heavily against his lower belly.
I dismount him and pull his pants off the remainder of the way before straddling him once again. His cock is long and thin, curved sharply upward with a disproportionately large head. It is wonderfully rock hard and I stroke it gently with one hand as I admire it. Lars' mouth has fallen open and he's staring down at me in wonder. I gather his balls in my other hand and gently squeeze them as I stroke him. I gaze into his beautiful eyes, no longer hidden behind his glasses. His mouth opens and closes like a fish flopping in my net.
"Feel good?" I ask.
"Really good," he says.
"Hold on, it gets even better." I get up and walk to the bathroom, leaving him lying there naked and horny, with his big erection lying rigid on his belly. I grab mom's "personal lubricant" that she hides in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Passing the bathroom mirror, I see a speck of something in my teeth, so I brush them thoroughly and rinse with mouthwash. I examine my toenails, dismayed to see the polish is already chipping. Lars is probably good and ready by now. When I finally return with the lube, he's clutching his dick.
"Naughty boy" I scold him. "Couldn't even wait for me to get back." I spread his legs wide and pour some lube on my hands. Starting at the base, I slowly work the entire length of his shaft, my lubricated fingers gliding up and down, pausing at the top to tease and stroke the underside of his big mushroom head and then slowly descending. With my other hand I gently massage his balls, stroking down his root and across his sack with the flat of my thumb. Lars moans and starts to gently buck his hips with each stroke. Slowly and inevitably he is being overwhelmed; my pussy is saturated and radiating its arousal throughout my lower body.
"I'm making you feel so good, aren't I?" I coo to him.
"Yes," he moans.
"You don't ever want me to stop, do you?"
"Please don't."
"So much better than when you do it yourself. Because I'm the one in control. And you're going to come when I want you to."
"Yes."
"But not just yet," I whisper in his ear. I softly tease the head of his cock with four fingertips and then firmly stroke his entire length from the tip down to the base. He writhes and gasps. Slowly and deliberately, I begin to stroke him from base to tip, pausing at the top until he twitches beneath me in anticipation, then down again, over and over, rhythmically and unrelentingly, forcing the pleasure to swell inside him. Soon his head is thrown back on the pillow, eyes unfocused, jaw hanging slack, his pelvis involuntarily clenching and relaxing as I march him to the brink, slowly and methodically. In my other hand, I feel his balls begin to tighten. His whimpers turn to gasps; he's totally at my mercy now. I've teased and stroked this straight A student and leader of tomorrow into a pliant, quivering creature that wants nothing but to feel the blissful sensation of my hands milking his cock. I could finish him so easily and leave him totally spent and covered in his own jizz and he'd love every minute of it, but I don't want to end our romantic evening too early.
CHAPTER IV
