My friend Jackie Macy and I first met each other about twenty years ago, when we first shared a room at the college during the first year. Jackie was a real flirt at college: right from the fresher's ball, it was quite clear that I, Muriel Grey, was to be the dull companion to the dazzling brunette.
My closed-off frowns, my early nights and my short black hair, with its severe, almost boyish cut, presented a complete contrast to Jackie and her flowing brunette locks. I could hardly compete with her broad smiles and the openness with which she seemed to greet anyone and everyone. So, I simply chose to contrast full stop.
Men would take one brief dismissive look at me, nod cursorily and then turn eagerly to attract the attentions of my room mate.
Within weeks of that first excursion, my role as chaperone was redundant. Jackie was known far and wide as 'Racy' Macy after a series of short-lived encounters with various men, eager to show the teasing brunette the ropes or learn from her reputed exploits in bed.
On the face of it we gradually drew apart as I lost myself in books and she lost herself in a whirlwind of sexual gratification that ended rather traumatically when she was sent down, pregnant early in our second year.
At first we kept in touch with each other as she raised her child single-handedly. Her parents turned away from her and the boy who'd acted so irresponsibly having disappeared over the horizon and out of Jackie's life with the same rapidity as he'd jetted his sperm into her unprotected, young womb.
I was fortunate to have been endowed with a small inheritance. Through it I was pleased to provide support to my former friend, using the funds to rebuild the bonds between us as I worked my way through academia and graduated with honours.
You should know that I will remember that day for a long time because it was the last time that I saw Jackie for ages. She was my guest that day and brought baby Emma with her.
See I have the photograph of them here in my rooms. Look at the loving way Jackie nurses her baby, gazing upon her with such motherly pride as the little girl sucks at her teat. And look at that gorgeous teat, all pink and swollen with a mother's milk. I had to clench my fists to not step forward and offer to nurse the other creamy breast myself, for all she looked so lovely and sweetly maternal.
Instead, I contented myself with offering Jackie another cup of Earl Grey tea, a rather delicious biscuit and a discrete envelope containing further funds for Emma's development.
Jackie was a very polite guest and never objected even when I insisted in taking a very close up picture of Emma on her teat, the roseate nipple being teased by Jackie to ensure sustenance for the child while I photographed the wonderful scene.
I certainly ensured that I caught as much tit as I could in the picture. I did after all have to consider the subsequent clenching of my thighs in my subsequent masturbatory frenzy that night...
After graduating, I moved into teaching first English and then specialised in English as a Foreign Language. During my post-graduate year, I gave Jackie advice on books for the toddler, Emma, to read, ways of encouraging her interest and various thoughts to help her language skills develop.
By the time Emma started at school though, my friendship with her mother was maintained entirely by correspondence, as my teaching of English as a Foreign Language took me overseas.
I wrote to them from all around the Mediterranean where I took up a number of short-lived posts as a private teacher of young ladies.
As I grew in confidence I moved from teaching through schools towards more and more private tuition. Helping to add polish to the finishing of young ladies from the French, Italian and Spanish middle classes became my vocation.
And I loved it.
Jackie sent me news and updates on her work as a shop assistant and her slow progress towards a supervisory role. It was such a shame that all her promise had been spoilt by her university adventurism, but there were compensations.
I so looked forward to the pictures she sent of Emma as she developed from a shy young girl into a rather lovely, petite brunette. In fact as time progressed she came to very much resemble my recollections of her mother at college.
Emma wasn't all that athletic although she did swim quite a lot keeping down the puppy fat. It rather pleased me that Emma became quite bookish in her teens. I had high hopes of her and continued to recommend literature via Jackie. I confess that began to fantasise about her.
Both she and her mother were such a contrast to the nubile young eighteen and nineteen year old Mediterranean girls who so often shared my bed, when their parents were off guard. I was caught a couple of times, but discretion was the watchword and I was sent on my way with tearful looks from the young signorinas, senoritas and mademoiselles and a stern, but often envious look from the offended parents.
It was all Jackie's fault that I had this thing about teenaged girls. She was so forward when we shared that room when we were both nineteen that it stuck with me despite the risks to my profession.
And I have no plans to change now after twenty years of seducing the daughters of the upper middle classes. They do, after all, have to come out sometime.
Even though I've had lots of good times will my young charges, I will always recall the times when I was in the room alone with my books and Jackie was out with one of her many boyfriends that year we spent together.
In fact, Jackie was very much my real early inspiration. I have to confess that had you strayed into our shared room, barely half an hour after she'd gone to her beloved of the night (and I'd stayed in on the pretext of some essay deadline to meet), you'd have found me furrowing through her drawers methodically.
It became quite a fixation for me: toying with her smalls: those lovely bras and panties. Those delicious camisoles and the stockings, my dear, well! I can still feel the silkiness and the cotton soft fabric of the school girl knickers that she abandoned soon after arriving at college.
And yes, I admit I did keep a couple of my favorite sets for old time's sake. It is quite amazing how you can manage to lose your room-mates panties when doing their wash for them communally.
In any case I did no harm: it was simply recycling discarded raw materials - and they do say the planet is in sore need of that. Jackie quickly grew out of her sensible school panties and had soon moved on to unappealing thongs and lacy things more suited to a brothel than the tight, young mons of a beautiful and educated young English lady.
Once I actually spread a pair of her old knickers out on her pillow and put my face to them, kissing and licking them, thinking of her undressing shamelessly in front of me after one of her little soirees, showing off the lacy gimmicks presented to her by her latest enamorata, changing right there in front of me completely shamelessly.
Jackie looked sweet enough to eat in such a state of undress. And I certainly ate her when sneaking to the laundry basket late at night on pretext of a late night pee. I loved the thought of her sleeping barely five feet from me, with only a thin wall between us as I masturbated myself silly in the early hours.
I remember that I would rummage through the laundry basket too and either chose her dirtiest pair of knickers or the ones she had worn most recently. Then I would use them as a panty-gag to muffle my groans as I played with my clitoris furiously, slapping my labia and sometimes pressing a slim finger into my dainty young bum hole. I would think of her looking so lovely and wholesome in her night dress; and then of her with a face full of cock all lecherous and needy; and then I would come and come and come.
Imagine me, the prim, bookish Muriel, with her legs spread, her body contorted and her fingers pummeling in and out of the twin orifices. I came to love those cool porcelain nights, where I spent the most delicious hours on the pedestal of the toilet in the communal bathroom next to our bedroom. Oh! Alma Mater! You provided for me so generously.
There was one time, when overcome by an excess of passion and daring I actually didn't make it to the bathroom. Instead, I took a pair of Jackie's sports shorts, fresh with her odour from a late night work out in the gym, stuffed the crotch in my mouth and masturbated under the sheets until I came like a soldier deprived of sex for a year of combat.
My fingers were coated with the viscous fluids from my cunt and the warm residue that fingers occasionally coax from an overused anus. I felt quite disgusting after that climax and, in any case, had to get up to wash myself, for fear Jackie would scent my excitement when she woke in the morning.
Quietly, I slid past Jackie's bed, tiptoeing to make sure that she would not be disturbed and as I walked past I gazed down at her peaceful face, as she lay on her side under the thin cotton sheets.
