Always the same time, around 3:30 or so, school gets out and the sexiest females in the world - schoolgirls - walk down my street. I don’t think I’m alone when I say nothing turns me on more than those short little plaid kilts and sheer knee highs. It’s a uniform that embodies all the innocence in the world, that is, before it’s put in the hands the eighteen and nineteen year olds who love to tease. Skirts that are supposed to be no more than 6 inches above the knee are hiked up to their beautiful thighs; if it’s windy enough you can catch a glimpse of heaven. White blouses are unbuttoned to reveal so much more ripe chest than is allowed. Good girls. Naughty girls. This is the constant struggle.
This is the fantasy.
It’s a beautiful day in June. Hot, but not so much that you can’t cool off in the shade. She’s walking with her friends, all of them going downtown after school. I, as usual, am keeping my distance but staring like a fiend from under my sunglasses. Watching their short kilts bounce as they walk and laugh, loving their silky long legs and wondering what it would be like to slowly run my hand up their thighs. Her hair in sassy little pony tails that swing and bounce every time she turns her head. She wears shiny black shoes over her sheer white kneehighs. I keep staring, keep drinking her in. The shield of my sunglasses is too much - I want to see her with my own eyes. I take them off. She looks back. Busted.
Her friends don’t notice as she looks at me, half scowling, half smiling. They stop and enter a store. She remains outside and musters up some attitude. I catch up with her.
“What are you staring at?” Her eyes are made up with girly bluish-green liner, just enough to look sexy, and it seems her lips, soft and pink, could not be shinier with gloss in the afternoon sun. Her upper chest is decorated with glitter and small earrings dangle from her lobes. I try to think of something cool to say, something not too creepy but flattering.
“I’ll give you three guesses.” She blushes but continues to stand in front of me.
“So you like gawking at innocent little girls?”
“I‘d like to know how innocent you are. And you don’t look little; I think you’re old enough.”
“Well I am, you know.” She tilts her head.
“You are what? Innocent, or old enough?” She doesn't know how to respond to this. Decision time, she’s thinking. She hesitates, strokes her soft neck with her finger. Her perfume suddenly washes over me as the wind changes direction.
“Both...” She slowly says and stares into my eyes, "I'm eighteen." She seems hypnotized with some combination of fear and desire. I can only think of one thing to say.
“What’s your name, angel?”
“Stephanie.”
“Stephanie, let’s go.” I start to walk away and she follows me, only slightly looking back to see if her friends have left the store. Is this happening? She trails only slightly behind me, this treasure, so sweet-smelling, so perfect to me in every way. I start to get hard just thinking of her and what could happen, not knowing if anything will. We reach my building and halt. I look at her blue eyes one more time, and, without speaking, ask her if she’s cool with everything. She looks back at me and plays with a little necklace that's nestled in her cleavage. She’s cool.
We climb the stairs to the fourth floor. Lots of opportunity to catch a glimpse up her little kilt. I’m puzzled, she’s modest at first, either staying behind me or keeping her hand on the back of her skirt to hold it down. Near the top this all changes - she swings around the corner and her kilt flies up just a little bit. Pink satin panties. You cute, sexy, naughty girl. I feel the blood pressure between my legs increase tenfold; I want to touch her, want to taste every inch of her beautiful body with my tongue, I want to make her scream for more. With every level we go up, the heat increases. The fourth floor is terrible for that. She’s broken a mild sweat by the time I start unlocking my door. She’s panting slowly.
We’re inside. This can not be happening. She doesn't speak, neither do I. Is she quiet because she’s afraid or nervous or so damn horny? This is a gamble. She stands looking out my living room window, massaging her neck with her back to me. I need to act. Come on, you wuss, go for it. She’s here. She wants it. Don’t make her wait.
I walk up behind her and put my hands on her hips, just above her little kilt. She jumps slightly. My nose caresses her beautiful neck, smelling her sweet perfume; a delicate scent, very girly. I press my crotch against the back of her kilt - I’m rock hard already, just being so close to her. She breathes heavily, still a little tense. Her hands are on her hips, covering mine. I need to say something...
“Are you wet, Stephanie?” She sighs at this, “I want to make you squirm.” She moans slightly. “I’m going to make you scream.”
She melts.
She turns around and presses her shiny glossed lips against mine, moaning as her delicate tongue pushes into my mouth. She breathes in heavily and her hands grab mine, moving them to her ass. I sigh as I squeeze her over her kilt, feeling her tight roundness. My tongue explores her mouth. I move one hand up to her face and stroke her cheek, making her moan again. She’s going to explode, it seems. I like it that way. I pull back from kissing her. She leans forward, wanting more. I brush my lips against hers only slightly. Every time she tries to kiss me I pull back. I dart my tongue across her lips, licking her. She sighs every time I do this, wanting to be kissed deeply. But I won’t let her have it yet. I continue licking her shiny lips and pulling away as my hands reach under her kilt, up the back of her legs to her ass. I caress her panties there, loving their feel, squeezing her tight body. She reaches her hands up and starts to unbutton her silky white blouse, revealing her cute little pink bra. I stop her at three buttons, grabbing her wrists.
She looks at me, panting, her lips and chest swollen. I bring my mouth so close to hers. She knows by this point not to try kissing me because I’ll only pull away.
