This is a slow burn (as many first-time stories are). It will take a while to "move through the gears", sexually, over a number of pages and chapters. It also spends time on background and character development. If that is not for you, give it a swerve, or get straight to the sexual parts. But, if you like a little back story, I hope you'll enjoy it.
I'd known Anna since we started secondary school together, aged eleven. We are both now approaching our 19th birthdays. So we'd been friends for a long time. But friends is all we'd ever been.
We didn't use the term geek, or nerd, back then. But I guess that's what we both were. "Swots" was the term most commonly used at that time. For those unfamiliar with the term, this was a faintly derogatory term used to describe the few of us (certainly in our school) who bothered to take lessons seriously. And was particularly reserved for those, like Anna and I, who were good at Maths and Science.
Anna and I (admittedly not up against much competition) were probably the cleverest kids in our year. And were, almost invariably, the top pupils in most subjects. Particularly the more academic ones. I'm afraid, certainly at the time, I would say that with more embarrassment, than pride. Ridiculous now, I know. But that's how I felt back then.
We were also the stars of the debating society (I told you we were nerds) and were regularly chosen to deliver speeches and presentations in the school. So, we spent a lot of time together as kids. Though never really socially.
Despite having the confidence to speak in public, I was painfully shy around girls. I
thought
some of them liked me. And I was almost certain Anna was one of those. In fact, I felt there was a definite connection between us. And others had suggested that too. But I had no idea how to approach Anna, or indeed any girls. Plus, I was terrified of rejection.
Anna was, in many ways, a carbon copy of me, in female form. She was certainly not one of the more "forward" girls. I thought she was attractive. In fact, I though she was very attractive. But she did little, or nothing, to enhance that attractiveness. I couldn't recall ever seeing her "glammed up".
Though that may have been because neither of us were party goers, at that time. And, probably as a result of this, neither of us won any prizes for our fashion sense.
It's not that I wasn't interested in girls. It was probably fair to say that I was obsessed with them. I was 18, just a few months shy of my 19th birthday. And I might have won prizes for masturbation.
I'd recently discovered a stash of my Dad's porn magazines. They were pretty tame, compared to what's freely available now online. But they were a revelation to me. And just prior to leaving for Uni I'd also happened across an American VHS porn film in the back of his wardrobe. Now that WASN'T tame. When my parents were out, I'd put it on, draw the blinds and beat off furiously.
It wasn't a bad school. And I certainly didn't have an unhappy time there. But the popular kids were the "jocks". Though, once again, that wasn't a term that we used. But the school - both pupils and seemingly even staff - particularly prized sporting prowess. Especially on the rugby pitch. The first XV was invariably strong and produced a seemingly endless supply of county players. Plus even a few who'd go on to receive international honours.
I was on OK athlete. And spent my time on the fringes of the school first XV. Though I discovered, when going to Uni, that, even as a first year, a fringe player at my old school was actually a pretty good standard.
Realising this, I took rugby a little more seriously. Training hard and going to the gym regularly. Which, of course, further improved my game.
Pathetic as it perhaps was, being considered a good rugby player enhanced my standing and confidence on campus. And helped me settle in more quickly.
At the end of my first term away I was looking forward to catching up with old friends and comparing notes on our experiences at Uni. On a Friday, about 10 days before Christmas, I was back home. Several of us had arranged to meet in a pub near our old school. With the plan being to go on, after a few pints, to the only night club in our small town.
I'd been there about an hour and was having a ball. It transpired a few of my old mates were struggling to adjust to life away. Without feeling smug, it seemed like I'd settled better than many. And I certainly felt more socially confident than before I'd left. I'd just gone to the bar to buy my round when Anna walked in.
At least, I thought it was Anna. But I wasn't entirely sure. She looked so different. In a
good way. Cliched as it sounds, it was just like one of those transformative, ugly duckling to beauty, scenes from a movie. The corkscrew perm had grown out, the thick glasses were gone, replaced by contact lenses.
This was a stupid observation, considering I'd know her for 7 or 8 years. But I'd never realised
quite
how pretty Anna was. Lush, brunette, hair, delicate features and absolutely flawless skin. I guess the perm and glasses had been obscuring that?
And, as she took her coat off, I saw that the dowdy, loose fitting, clothes had been exchanged for tight trousers and an even tighter top.
I'd always thought she had a pretty good figure. But I was never really sure. I don't think anybody was, as she always kept it covered up. Well, now I knew. She looked absolutely stunning. And her body - in that outfit - could cause car crashes.
I was the first person she saw as she entered. As she walked the short distance towards me, she started to blush. I was actually staring, wide-eyed and open mouthed. I recovered enough composure, just about, to give her a hug and say hi.
"Oh my god," I said, "if I looked shocked it's because I almost didn't recognise you. I can't believe how you've changed. You look fantastic."
I was not the sort of smooth operator used to showering girls with compliments (though I maybe developed into that in later life). And Anna was certainly not used to receiving compliments. About her academic prowess yes, but about how she looked, no.
She blushed again, but was obviously pleased at the impression she'd made.
"Thank you, Jack, that's really sweet of you. But I'm worried that this outfit is a bit too much? I'm really not used to wearing clothes that are this figure hugging." As she blushed again.
What I was thinking was, "with a figure like you've clearly got, then it should be hugged."
But, clumsy social oaf that I was (what was I thinking an hour earlier of being more confident?), what I said was little more innocuous.
"Crikey, no. It's not too much." Then, after a brief pause. "You look good in it. Really good."
Perhaps I was getting a little better at this compliment thing?
"Thank you again. That makes me feel better. You look good too, have you been working out?"
This time it was my term to blush. Which, remarkably, make Anna colour up again too.
As I was at the bar, I bought her a drink and we walked back to the table together. More hugs and hellos followed, with multiple comments about how different (and better) Anna looked. All of them, of course, delivered with more suavity than mine. Cue more blushing from Anna. And, I was surprised to admit to myself, some jealousy from me.
However, it was me that Anna choose to sit by, scooting up so that we bunched together. Our legs were pressed against each other. And, as we turned and chatted, I could feel her (very impressive) tits against my shoulder and arm.
Looking back, it's incredible to think how turned on I could be by the feel of a (fully clothed) breast against my arm. But that's the way an 18-year-old virgin feels. Which, I'm sad to say I was. (Spoiler alert, but not for too much longer.)
My senses were on overdrive. And my dick varied between semi and fully erect for most of the next hour. Particularly when, to make herself heard over the hubbub of the bar, Anna was leaning into my neck and posing questions, albeit innocuous ones, into my ear.
