An eighteen-year-old-High-School-Senior-Jack rang Mary Carson's doorbell with a slightly shaky finger. He couldn't believe he was actually here, and was very, very nervous.
Out of the blue she had turned to him in Geometry class the day before, just after they received their latest quiz scores, and said, "Jack, I don't know how you aced this thing! I just can't seem to get the hang of these proofs. Is there any chance you might help me understand these? I've got to get them down before finals."
"Uh, sure!" he had stuttered, not believing he might get the chance to spend some time with Mary, even if it was only to study.
"Great! I know tomorrow's Saturday, but are you busy? Do you mind? Saturdays are the only free time I have for the next couple of weeks."
"Sure!" he said again.
"Okay. Here's my address," she jotted it on a page torn from her notebook. He didn't tell her that he didn't need it, that he knew where she lived. Most everybody did. Handing it to him, she asked, "Eleven o'clock ok?" He nodded mutely, then she delivered the knockout punch just before the bell rang and she flew out of the room, "Oh, and bring a bathing suit. We'll splash around the pool when we get done."
And so here he was, Geometry book, notebook, and bathing suit in the backpack on his shoulder, waiting nervously as light footsteps approached the door. It opened, and Mary greeted him, her warm, friendly smile in place.
"Hey Jack! Thanks for coming! Come on in." She led him through the house, and he couldn't help but admire the view before him; tight round butt undulating under a pair of tight short-shorts; long, lightly tanned, athletic legs that only a teenager could have, extending down to feet clad in ankle socks and tennis shoes; long hair, currently in a pony tail, its shiny, dark golden blond/light satiny brown color as difficult to pin down and describe as she was.
Mary was one of the prettiest girls in school, and quite popular, yet didn't participate in any of the activities those attributes might suggest; she didn't cheerlead, or enter any of the various pageantry. She was fit and athletic, yet didn't participate in any of the school's organized sports. She was intelligent, made good grades, and the school activities she did participate in were the slightly nerdier ones; French club, year book staff, etc.
Beyond that, she was always friendly towards everyone, and gave her warm smile to even the geekiest kid in school. She often hung out with the popular crowd, but would never date anyone seriously, which only served to stoke the crush Jack and pretty much every other boy in school had on her. All of this made it even harder to believe that he was following the tall hardbody through her house on a Saturday morning.
She led him to a bright sunroom with the pool visible just outside its windows. There was a table with a couple of chairs in one corner. Covered with books and papers, it looked to be where Mary did much of her schoolwork. "Will this be ok?" she asked, pointing at the table.
"Oh, yeah, great." Jack answered.
"Would you like a glass of lemonade before we start?"
"Yeah, that would be great." Jack said, feeling a little foolish for his repetitive vocabulary so far. Mary just smiled, though, and bounced off in the direction of what he assumed was the kitchen.
Jack removed his books from his backpack while he waited for her return. She came back a few moments later carrying two large glasses. She set them on the table, sat down, and they got to work. She sat close by him, and her beauty and charm were incredible distractions, although no more so than her clean, flowery scent. The only thing that saved Jack from being a complete basket case with constant boner was the fact that he had been subjected to the same stimuli during every third period of every school day of the year as she sat innocently beside him in the next row, and he had learned to function around them.
That is, unless she was wearing a certain skin tight, pink furry short-sleeve sweater. She wore it once every other week or so, and it drove him nuts. He had spent several erection-filled study hall periods analyzing why this was. He finally decided that it was for two reasons. The first was that, if it was as soft on the inside as it was on the outside, then it must feel incredible to wear, especially on her boobs, which appeared to be unfettered by a bra when she wore it (although it was impossible to tell for sure through the fur). The second reason on was that, while the idea of feeling her up over any sweater (or anything else, for that matter) was exciting, doing so over something as soft and furry as that pink sweater was especially so.
But then his theory suffered a setback. He saw an identical sweater hanging in a store one day, and after looking around to make sure no one was watching, couldn't resist feeling the garment both outside and in. He was surprised to discover that the inside was not soft at all, but rather scratchy. How could she wear something that felt like that, especially over her bare nipples, assuming she really was braless? The idea that she would actually enjoy wearing something like that seemed a bit kinky, but no less cock-firming than the soft-inside theory.
Luckily - or not - she wasn't wearing that sweater today, so they made decent progress, although her closer proximity and undivided attention still made for quite a challenge. After about an hour and a half of good progress, she held up her hands. "Enough! I think I've got all of this so far, but if we go any further, it'll just leak out my ears. How about a sandwich, then we can hit the pool!"
"Uh, okay." Jack said nervously.
"Bologna?"
"Yeah, that sounds great."
"Be right back!" She got up and bounced back toward the kitchen.
"Can I help?" he called after her.
A cheerful "Nope!" came floating back.
She reappeared balancing two paper plates containing sandwiches and chips, and containers of mayo and mustard. "I wasn't sure what you wanted on yours, so I brought the bottles."
"Thanks." Jack said. He slathered some mayo on his sandwich as she did the same with the mustard. They exchanged knives and bottles and repeated the process. The next several moments were silent except for munching, crunching, and slurping. When they both were left with only crumbs, Mary said. "Just leave your plate here. I'll get it later. Did you bring your suit?"
Jack nodded mutely.
"Great! Come on!"
She jumped up and led him out to the pool. She pointed to a small open-front pool house. "You can change in the bathroom in there and grab one of the towels. I'll be right back." And she was gone back into the house. Jack opened the door of the pool house bathroom and went inside. It was nice but basic, with a shelf holding lots of fluffy beach towels. He locked the door, shucked off his shorts and donned his swim trunks. Grabbing a towel he headed back out to the pool. Mary wasn't back yet, so he sat in a chair under an umbrella to wait.
He heard the sliding door open a moment later, and turned. His mouth dropped open. Mary was wearing a skimpy red bikini that left little of her athletic, curvaceous body to the imagination. She saw his expression and laughed. "I guess I don't need to ask what you think of my new bathing suit."
Jack turned a bright crimson as he stammered, "I... uh... I'm sorry..."
She frowned, "For what?"
