I could barely pay attention to anything all day. It's been like this all week long, ever since I caught Joe in his bedroom. But today it was especially hard to keep my mind on things.
I was standing in the washroom stall furthest down the row. One of the ones that almost never gets used. I was leaning back against the tiled wall with my plaid skirt hiked up immodestly high, trying desperately to give myself some relief. If this was any indication of why, I could definitely understand the motivation for women to shave the kinky hair growing on their pussy lips. But I definitely have to wonder how clean-shaven women get anything done.
Last night I remembered how the woman I saw in Joe's movie had only a strip of hair left on her mound. This morning, in the bathtub, I thought I'd give shaving down there a try. I had no idea how good it would feel. I already decided I would never grow hair there again.
Walking was exquisite torture. Each step rubbed the baby-smooth softness of my nether lips together. And when I sat down, the little ergonomic curve in the moulded plastic seat of the chair pressed as enticingly and firmly against my clit as my fingers have been doing these last couple of days. All morning long, it's been all I could do not to rub myself up against that ridge.
By 10 o'clock in the morning, I had to throw my panties out. I made for the bathroom and stuffed them, soaking wet, into the napkin waste disposal container in the corner. And then I hiked my skirt up.
I've been bad. Real bad.
It's 11:30, now, and I've missed my History class. I've never skipped a class in my life before. But then, I've never been this hot.
The wall was cold against my bare buttocks, but somehow that just made everything more intense. I could hear the soft smacking sound of my flesh against tile as I rode my fingers, bringing myself towards another intense wave of pleasure. I forgot how many I had already. It might have been three. Probably more.
My hips bucked and my hand froze as I spasmed again, trying desperately to bite back a scream that still snuck out as a loud groan. I could feel my juices leaking down my thighs, dripping close to my white stockings. My knees nearly gave out, and I had to lean hard against the wall.
I couldn't keep this up. It was nearly lunchtime, and if I stayed here pleasuring myself I was sure to get caught. I couldn't let people find me fingerfucking myself silly in the girl's washroom. I had to go home.
* * *
Despite the slick trail of wetness I had left running down the bathroom wall, the journey home was no easier to bear. I was so horny and distracted that it was like being stricken blind. I barely remember entering the house. I only know that I found myself and my brush in my parents' empty bedroom.
I remembered seeing the tapes in Joe's underwear drawer, left ajar that day earlier this week. Cautiously, I pulled his drawer open again.
There, in all it's unlabeled glory, was Joe's stash of films. I took one at random and stuck it into his VCR, hopping onto the bed with the remote control. It must have been pure serendipidous fate that I pulled out the tape I did.
I had picked out a tape of a girl "losing her virginity." With eyes the size of saucers, I watched as the unsuspecting co-op student was seduced and deflowered by her boss, a man of greater than substantial endowment, on his ultra-modern glass desk. Seated on the edge with her skirt hiked up to her waist, she demurely turned her head away when he ripped out the crotch of her pantyhose and pressed the head of his throbbing cock inside of her. I watched, hardly able to breathe, as the camera tracked in for a closeup. His hips began to pump slowly, forcing himself into her millimeter by millimeter, and her innocence faded with every push; her mien grew more wanton.
Mine did as well. The rhythmic pulsing going on between my legs was fast becoming unbearable, and how desperately I wished that I was the recipient of that monster prick. I was fucking myself with my brush in time to his movements, but something was still missing. I was still hungry in a way I had never known before, and until I got what I needed, my appetite was going to be insatiable. I moaned long and low in my throat, a sound of desperation and mingled pleasure. And in response, I heard a sharp gasp.
It seemed that if my choice in videos was guided by some unseen force, so too was Joe's decision to come home early that day.
Alone in the house, thinking I was safe for several hours, I hadn't shut my parents' door. So Joe had been greeted at the door by the sound of moaning pornstars, had made his way to the doorway of his room, only to discover me half naked on his bed, masturbating to one of his movies, so totally engrossed that I never realized he was there.
I might have died of embarrasment, I think. If I hadn't seen the lust in his eyes and the bulge in his pants that my condition provoked.
"Allie, honey," he began in a strangled voice. "What are you doing in here?"
How could I explain what I was doing to the man who was the only father I've ever known? What I so desperately needed? I pulled my skirt down, wondering if I was going to cry.
He sat down on the bed beside me, trying not look at the television, where the co-op was facedown on the glass tabletop now, breasts smooshed against its surface, being rocked by the force of her boss' thrusts. He tried not to look at me either, or the bed where my brush lay, handle still glistening with my juices. He was having a difficult time finding anywhere safe to direct his eyes.
"It's ok, baby, it's ok," he said awkwardly, rubbing my back with a hand. "It's a normal part of growing up, really, to... uh... masturbate." Then he laughed, shortly. "I thought this was only something fathers had to have discussions with teenage sons about."
The feeling of him rubbing his hand on me inflamed me further. "What?" I asked, feeling almost like I had done something criminal. "Girls aren't supposed to masturbate?"
