Thanks to S.E. and all those who sent positive comments on The Geek, Part I. My semi-autobiographical account continues below. The characters, locale and events are all real except for the sex. The sex is fiction born of a permanently prurient imagination from which I have suffered now into my seventh decade.
When I was 17 my parents gave me a ukulele. I soon grew bored with it and purchased a used tenor banjo with my paper route money. I taught myself to play and soon some generous local musicians let me sit in with their bands so I could learn the tricks of the trade. I got my first gig with a polka band. That Saturday night we played in a country dance hall. The band consisted of an accordion, saxophone, drums and tuba. For all I knew [and that was precious little] we played the same song all night long. At the end of the night the leader gave me $5.00. When my buddies at school found out that I had played "a paying gig", I was king of the hill for a day. I had that "eight foot tall" feeling.
Imagine then, my feeling a year later when I walked into school after having had a "Sunday afternoon delight" of oral sex with our prim and proper English teacher. Once again I felt like a giant but I could tell no one! I could not breathe a word of this transition to manhood for fear of ruining this randy woman's reputation. My only consolation was that, as I walked into her class that first Monday afternoon, I imagined that she would somehow notice me in a different way, that she would give me a sign, a wink, a gesture of some sort reaffirming our "special" relationship.
But alas, nothing of the kind happened. She never looked me in the eye other than to let me answer a general class question. She acted totally as if nothing had happened that steamy Sunday afternoon. I was at once shocked and depressed. Had I created such an insignificant impression on her that the whole event meant nothing? Did I do or say something wrong? Is my dick too small? Do I have a zitz on my face? I tormented myself with these questions and when the class was over I fully intended to stay after class and confront her but she walked out with the rest of the students without so much as a glance in my direction.
As the week wore on I became more and more depressed. She did not ask for my help in grading papers as she had mentioned. The week was drawing to a close and I was becoming more frustrated and desperate. I did not have the courage to call her or confront her in the hallway or at her home. I just sunk deeper into myself.
Our school system had a certain number of days in the schedule such as "snow days" when school was cancelled. We would have to make up those days at the end of the year. It seemed like such a stupid system to me. As it turned out, we had to come back to school for one extra day, a Monday, in order to fill out the required number of days.
It was a day for doing nothing but goof off and a lot of kids simply didn't show up.
But you know me, I was there when the first bell rang. At the end of the day, I marched into English class, fully determined to say something to Jane. But then, horror of horrors, she was not there! A substitute teacher was there with a movie about Mark Twain.
Damn! I turned around and for the first time in my life, I skipped school and walked out.
I had to talk to Jane so I summoned up what little courage a geek can all upon and rode my bike over to her house. It was not a particularly hot day but I was sweating profusely. I nervously knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. I knocked again and again. Her car was in the drive so I felt sure she was there. No answer. I tried the door and it was open. I walked into the house and called out. No answer. I looked around. Everywhere were packing boxes in various states of fill. She was moving out!
She was leaving! A chill ran through me. Then I heard what I thought was water running. I walked towards the back of the house and realized that she was in the shower! [
In 1954 in our town, very few homes had a shower. We all had bath tubs. Showers were for the boys' locker room at school and YMCA camp
.] I peeked into the bathroom and looked right through the glass shower door at Jane, stark naked in a blurred silhouette, of course. She must have noticed the change in room temperature because she turned and looked at me. She let out a small scream and started to cover herself with her hands until she recognized me.
"David, oh my God! What a shock! What are you doing here?"
I just stood there like a frog on a log and said nothing. We stared at each other for a moment and then she said,
"Well, well. Now that you've seen me naked again, what are you going to do; just stand there and gawk at me?"
"Miss B___, I mean Jane, I......I knocked on the door several times. I .....wanted to see....that is talk to you. All week long you never......."
"Oh, come on David. It's no big deal. We had a little fun and you grew up a little. Do you regret what we did last time? I thought you enjoyed yourself"
"Oh, I did, I did, but......."
I think she began to understand my dilemma. She opened the shower door just a little. I could see her breasts dripping with soap and water. Her dark brown pubic hair was matted to her crotch.
"Tell you what, big boy. Take your clothes off and join me. I need someone to scrub my back."
For once, I didn't hesitate. I tore off my clothes and now, fully naked in front of a woman for the first time, I stepped into the shower. Immediately the hot water hit me in the face so I moved forward and pressed my now stiff and throbbing cock right into the crack of her ass. She turned slightly and handed me the bar of soap. I lathered up and began to rub her back. She stretched her arms around behind her and clasped my back, pulling me tighter into her ass. I was a little constrained to keep rubbing her back so I ran my hands around to her breasts and soaped them up. Her nipples hardened to my touch. She began that same low moaning that I heard when I was lapping at her pussy 8 days ago. I lowered my soapy hands to her crotch and began to rub her pussy.
