Bo and Me, Chapter 2 - School

I reach over and turn off the alarm. Six in the morning. I have to leave the house around seven, walk over to the station and take the train to school. Class starts at seven thirty. I used to have my alarm set to six fifteen, which gave me enough time to roll around in bed for a bit before I’d have to get up, put on clothes and go downstairs for my bathroom routine. Usually I’d still have time for a mug of hot cocoa on the couch before leaving the house. Yet more often than not, lately I’ve been getting up an extra fifteen minutes early. His tail is still tucked between my legs. I love waking up horny. Shere Khan is a large plush tiger that lives on the side of my bed. His tail is covered with incredibly soft fur. Sometimes when I go to sleep, I pull down my pyjama pants, lie on my side and clamp my legs around his tail as I spoon him — like last night, for instance. I relish the furry sensation on my pussy for a while before I pull out Shere Khan’s tail from between my legs. Turning to lie on my back, I place the tiger on top of me, hugging him to my chest with my left arm. I use my right hand to brush his tail softly over my pussy mound, back and forth, back and forth. I can’t come from doing this, but it turns me on like crazy. After five minutes or so, I let go of his tail and start touching my pussy directly. I’m close to orgasm already, so I go slow, still hugging the tiger. His soft body feels delicious on top of me. When I feel like I’m about to come, I stop and put Shere Khan back in his bedside spot. Turning over on my stomach, I bunch up my pillow and place it between my legs. I’ve seen a lot of girls doing this in porn videos. By now, I’ve found quite a few video websites that I like. You have to say you’re eighteen or older to visit them, but they wouldn’t know if you’re lying. My favourite videos are the homemade ones — professional videos usually feel exaggerated and fake to me. I keep going back to the first one that I watched. I like to imagine that the cameraman is Melanie’s boyfriend. I especially love to watch videos of girls masturbating or having sex with other girls. Sometimes, I watch videos with guys, too, but they’re not nearly as exciting to me. I think it’s because I enjoy seeing someone like myself experiencing pleasure. It’s easier to identify with girls in that way. I’ll never know what sex feels like for a guy, but with girls, I can imagine I’m them. I usually play with my pussy while I watch porn, but I always hold back and wait to make myself come with a proper session in bed afterwards. I love to tease and restrain myself. For some reason, it turns me on so much more than going for an orgasm straight away. I still love to read masturbation stories, too. That’s where I got the idea of playing with Shere Khan — a lot of girls seem to be more than just friends with their plush toys. One thing I haven’t tried yet is putting fingers inside my vagina, save for some cautious, curious poking. I still have my hymen and I’m in no rush to lose it. The sensations I get from just playing with my clit are amazing as they are, anyway. Case in point — I’ve been humping away at my pillow for almost ten minutes and the sensations are driving me insane. My body feels centered around my clit, almost like the rest of me only exists to make my pussy happy. I’m moving my hips against the pillow, back and forth, back and forth, creating that soft, beautiful friction. Unlike Shere Khan’s tail, I can make myself come from riding my pillow if I put an effort to it. It’s much more work than using my fingers, but it pays off in spades. Right now, coming is not my intention, though. It’s almost six thirty. I glide off my poor pillow, fluff it up and put it back where it belongs. It takes a lot of mental effort not to touch myself as I get out of bed and put on my clothes for the day. My clit is so sensitive that even just feeling it rubbing against my pants as I walk is a bit of torture. ***** Another five minutes till recess. We’re slogging through the last five minutes of English class. I already knew most of what we’ve learned today. Browsing Gorillaz-Unofficial almost every day (… and certain other English language websites, occasionally) is improving my vocabulary and grammar fast. The rules seem a lot simpler than German to me. English has no declination and barely any conjugation to speak of — easy peasy. I’ve been sitting with my legs crossed since class started. Barely having to pay attention to the subject at hand means I can think about naughty stuff as I rub my thighs against each other. How many kids in my class have masturbated before? Most of them, probably. How many do it every night? This new horny side of me has taken me by surprise. I used to think of myself as a good girl with nothing to hide, and here I am now, thinking about dirty stuff in class, more preoccupied with trying to stimulate my clit than being a good student. The school bell rings — ten past nine. For twenty minutes, we get to stroll through the patio. I grab the lunch box with my breakfast inside and head out of the classroom. Most of my classmates make a right towards the main stairwell that leads to the patio, but I’m heading left through a long corridor lined with changing rooms that leads to another stairwell. On the left, students come streaming down from the gym on their way to the changing rooms. On the right, the stairs lead to a side entrance by the street across from the bus station. I make my way down the stairs, but instead of exiting to the street, I walk around the staircase. Making sure that I’m unseen, I pass through a narrow space on the side and creep underneath the stairs. It’s like a private cave. Light shines through the empty spaces between the stair steps, but because of the angle, you can’t look in from the other side. It’s a little dusty but it’s cozy, and it’s mine. I found out about it last year when half of my class, me included, were playing Yu-Gi-Oh! in the five-minute breaks between classes. During recess, an older kid from a different school could sometimes be found selling rare cards in this spot. I could never afford them, but I always tagged along with the people buying from him. It was a surreptitious ritual, confined to this gloomy hidden space, away from the eyes of teachers. I felt like I was part of a secret club. The kid never showed up this year, so no one’s been using the spot — except for me. No one’s disturbed me so far (fingers crossed). I plop myself down and eat the two sandwiches that Mom made for me this morning. Business first. After I’m done eating, my hand creeps into my pants. I’ve been dying to touch myself all morning. Rubbing my thighs against each other in class creates delicious friction on my clit, but ultimately, it provides more frustration than relief. My pussy’s been aching for direct contact. My clit sings with delight when my fingers find it. Access isn’t too great like this, though. I stand up, undo my jeans and panties and push them down to my shoes; then I squat as if I was going to pee behind a bush. No way I’m gonna let my naked butt touch the dusty floor. Shivers run down my spine. It’s so thrilling to be naughty like this at school. Theoretically, someone could walk around the staircase at any moment and find me with my pants around my ankles, touching my pussy. Slowly, I rub my clit, first with one, then two fingers going in sweet, soft circles. I suck at the fingers of my other hand. It feels oddly intimate — baby-like, yet vaguely sexual. Some kids run down the stairs right above me, but I don’t even pause. Just gotta stay quiet. I’ve never had an orgasm at school, always saving that part for the sanctity of my bed, but today, my need is too great. I need relief, need to come. I’ve been so on edge that it only takes a tiny increase in speed to send me over. I close my eyes and bite down on my fingers. All the pent-up sexual energy bursts through me, explodes out of me like the first strike of lightning in a thunderstorm that’s been lingering for hours. After the orgasm, my clit is too sensitive, almost sore. I stop rubbing myself, but I keep the palm of my hand planted to my pussy as I regain my senses. Eventually, I manage to get up and put my pants back on. I sneak out of my little sacred private space unseen, exit through the side door and walk around the school building to the patio. It’s a warm summer day, but there’s a fresh breeze caressing my skin as I sit down on a bench, close my eyes and think about nothing in particular. ***** It’s just a two-minute walk from our apartment to the train station, but on Wednesdays it feels much longer. I’m anxious with anticipation because I know She’ll be there. On most days, She takes the same train as me in the morning, and after a ten-minute ride, She gets off at the same stop. Wednesdays are special because our paths converge for a few more minutes after that. When I get to the station, it’s crowded as always. Dozens of kids and adults commute every morning to get to school or work. I amble along the platform until I spot Her. She’s talking to a boy I don’t know, but I’m not close enough to make out what they’re talking about. Soon enough, the train rolls in. When the doors open, they get separated by the crowd. The boy boards the train one door over from Her. On an instinct, I decide to follow him. I let everyone else get on first, then I walk down the aisle until I find him. All the seats nearby are taken, so I just stand next to him and touch his shoulder. He gives me a puzzled look. I have no idea what I’m doing. On auto-pilot, I bend down and talk to him quietly. “Excuse me,” I fumble.    “Huh?” “I was just wondering… the girl you were talking to at the station… what’s her name?” “Uhhh.” He pauses, looking at me bewildered, evidently trying to figure me out. Apparently, he can’t think of a good reason not to tell me Her name, though. “Lena.” “Thanks!” It’s all I wanted to know. Before he can ask any return questions, I make a quick escape and continue down the aisle. My good fortunes don’t end there. When I spot Lena, I find an unclaimed seat on the other side of the aisle facing in her direction. I claim it for myself so I can drink in her sight. I first noticed her when I got into eighth grade two months ago. Every time I saw her, I caught myself looking, mesmerized by her beautiful face and long blonde hair. I especially loved her cute upturned nose. Before the first week of school was over, I realized that I had a crush on her. I was devastated. I had a crush on a girl. Did that mean I was a lesbian? According to the Bible, homosexuality was wrong and sinful. The elders gave talks about it in congregation sometimes. There was a law in the Hebrew Scriptures that said that two men caught having sex with each other should be put to death right then and there. In the Greek Scriptures, Paul said that sex between two women was just as bad as sex between two men. I’d grown up being taught these things, yet I never even considered that they might apply to me. After mulling it over and over, I was astonished to realize that I’d always been attracted to girls — I’d just never thought of it that way. The earliest memory I could come up with was of a girl in congregation. I still vividly remember the day she came in wearing a gorgeous blue dress. I kept looking at her during service. Later, I told my parents how beautiful I thought she looked. I must have been about three or four. In elementary school, I was friends with boys and girls, but I was much closer to the girls. While I enjoyed hanging out with boys, the difference with girls was that I also admired the way they looked. I thought that it was because I wanted to be like them. I even remember being kind of proud of myself for not having immature crushes on boys like other girls did. When I got into secondary school, I sort of ended up as an outcast. I got good grades, but most other kids thought of me as a weirdo. A lot of boys bullied me for being a geek. The first guy friend I made was Marcus. He often protected me from the guys that hounded me and I ended up sitting next to him in class. I didn’t have a crush on him or any other boy, but I felt kind of disillusioned about romantic feelings, anyway. It was hard enough to make friends. Once a year, our class went on one-week field trips. We’d stay at youth hostels where four to six people would share a room. On our first trip in fifth grade, I wanted to room with Marcus, but there was a policy against mixed-sex rooms. I got grouped with a bunch of girls who were all friends with each other already. There was no animosity between us, but I still felt like an outsider. The girls knew that my clique was with Marcus and the friends we shared, so they didn’t reach out to me, and I was too shy for trying to make friends with them. I hung out with Marcus during the day trips and kept to myself in the hostel room with the girls. I always got fully dressed in the bathroom right after I showered, embarrassed to change in front of the other girls. I got strange looks for that. They’d come out of the bathroom in their bras and panties, comfortable to walk around in their underwear until we had to leave the room. I admired their lack of inhibition and stole glances at them whenever they weren’t looking. It gave me a strange, shaky feeling in my tummy. Once again, I thought it was because I was a weirdo, watching the normal girls because I wanted to be one of them. When I understood how I felt about Lena, it hit me like a punch to the gut. There were no two ways around it — I had a crush on another girl. I have no intention of chatting her up, today or ever. What would I say to her, anyway? Hey, I have a crush on you, do you happen to be a lesbian, too? Or maybe, Hey, do you wanna hang out after school and get ice cream? You know, like you do with people you’ve never met before? And yet I’m delighted to know her name now… Lena. I keep running it through my head as I gaze at her. Of course, I can’t stare her down for the whole ride, but I’m not greedy. Even a few furtive glances here and there make me happy. She looks like an angel to me. In the short moments when our eyes lock by chance, my heart starts beating hard and fast inside my chest. Even if I didn’t have to be covert about it, I don’t know that I could hold her gaze for more than a few electric seconds. We get off at the next stop ten minutes later, as do most of the adults and all of the other kids. Engelheim is at the center of the school district. My own school is just across the street from the train station, but today, I join the trove of kids headed towards the bus station next door. On Wednesdays, my class takes a bus to the indoor pool for Swimming Instruction. I’m lanky and uncoordinated, so I’ve always hated Sports class. I’m not much better at Swimming, either, but thanks to Lena, Wednesday has become my favourite day of the week. She takes the bus every morning, probably to get to her own school a couple minutes away. Lena’s stop is right across from mine, so I get to steal glances at her for another ten minutes as we wait for the bus. I cherish the way she moves, the way the wind plays with her hair. One time, she didn’t show up on Wednesday and it ruined my entire week. Being in her presence feels holy to me. I know that she’s out of reach, but it doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about her. Sometimes when I sit on my bed listening to music, I imagine her sitting next to me, holding my hand. Last week, I had a dream that my dad took me over to Lena’s house for a date. He bonded with her parents as we ate dinner together. They all agreed we made “such a cute couple.” When I woke up, I cried into my pillow for five minutes straight. ***** I used to hate the locker room. Who doesn’t? It’s as awkward a situation as it gets — two dozen strangers close around you as you strip out of your clothes. I couldn’t imagine getting naked in front of all of them, so I put on my swimsuit underneath my regular clothes before I go to school. It’s a common technique with my classmates, too, but some of them don’t seem to have any qualms getting naked. I take my time getting out of my street clothes, sneaking furtive peeks at girls in various states of undress. Now that I know I’m attracted to girls, I wonder how I’ve managed to never pay attention before. There are boobs and pussies and belly-buttons and backsides all around me. I love the shape of girls, the way their bodies curve. I feel like a little kid in a candy store, even if it’s one where I never actually get to eat any sweets. I wonder what Lena looks like without any clothes on. Two hearts beat in my chest, though. Checking out other girls turns me on, but at the same time, it makes me feel really guilty. I’m homosexual — sinful and worthy of death in God’s eyes. In comparison, masturbating seems like peanuts now. There’s no way I could confide in my parents about it, or even Marcus, so I’ve been chatting with my friends on the G-U forums. I was surprised how upset they got when I shared my feelings of guilt. They told me that I’d been brainwashed and that homosexuality was completely natural. I got some helpful links to scientific articles. I pretended to read them like they didn’t have anything to do with me, trying to be unbiased. I found out that your sexuality was partially something you were just born with and partially shaped in the first three years of your life or so. Either way, you couldn’t change it just by wanting to. That made me feel better, but only a little. On the one hand, at least it wasn’t my fault I was different. On the other hand, God was judging me anyway. I feel like it doesn’t add up, though. Why would Jehovah condemn people for something that’s completely out of their hands? To me, that either means he’s not a loving god after all (maybe even evil), or that the Bible isn’t God’s word and everything they’ve taught us in congregation is wrong. I don’t know which seems worse. But I do know that I’m horny right now. Before I make my way into the large pool hall, I sneak into a bathroom stall. With another five minutes before instruction starts, I strip my one-piece swimsuit down to my knees. As I stroke my pussy, I think about Lena, her beautiful long hair, her eyes deep as wells, her angelic face. In no time, I’m close to the edge, so I slow down my pace. I’m gonna save my orgasm for when I go to bed tonight, save it for Lena. In my thoughts, she’ll be right next to me, watching me as I come for her.