For those who didn’t suffer the agonys of Christ Himself on a Friday afternoon (last double period) under the ancient, wizened and vile smelling Sister Catherine, the above title refers to ‘the changes brought about by time.’
You’ll see why I chose this title.
I remember her as an altar girl. Chubby-faced…chubby bodied, come to that. Standing there, clutching the incense boat with bored, disinterested expression clearly wishing she was somewhere else, while her parents glowed with pride in the front row.
I remember her as the weight seemed to fall off her, revealed the first hint of womanly curves and budding boobs.
I remember her at the ‘’puppy-fat’ stage, when she overflowed the top of her jeans and I finally understood the meaning of the insult ‘muffin top’.
But now -- when I last saw her -- I saw the absolutely perfect, toned body, a face that could be on the front cover of Vogue, and eyes….oh my God….eyes that were wide, perfect, and one could easily and willingly drown in their depth. Everything about her from the way she walked, to the way she smiled and chatted easily in my pub with her friends made me cream my panties, or would have done, had I been wearing any. This was a caterpillar to butterfly transformation of sheer perfection.
Almost instantly Miss Brain tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Of course, she’d have made the transition into sex and sexuality as well. Just imagine how she might play with herself.” Fuck! Instantly, I imagined her lying awake at night with those strange, slightly uncomfortable feelings we’ve all experienced. That….hmmm….what’s the word…..’focus’ (?) between our legs….a focus which led an exploratory finger under the panty waistband, and the wide-eyed surprise of finding that there were parts down there that rather liked to be touched: liked it very much!
When did she first fantasise? And about what? Is she straight? Lesbian? Bi? Has she lost her virginity yet? If not there must be guys queuing up! I noticed when she passed me that under the slight trace of perfume, was a deep, primal 'follow me, fuck me’ air about her. Her! That chubby little kid on the altar.
She crossed her legs, flicking her skirt up enough to show me the dark blue panties, into which I imagined her creaming softly. Damn! Unusually for me I’m in jeans today. Jeans, but no panties. Thank God for that rough-assed seam! A quick flex of my pelvis and…..mmmmm spot on! I felt myself open inside….that’s going to be messy!
My eyes focused on her fingers. Musician’s fingers…or perhaps those of an artist? Long, delicate…..I’d need at least two of them inside me…..or perhaps she could introduce me to “The Silent Duck” (just bunch all your fingers together and bend your hand forward at the wrist. You’ll see what I mean.” I swear, I could almost feel her pushing those bunched up fingers inside me, and the longer I stared the more physically real the sensation became. At one point, I could almost feel the stinging of being overstretched.
I rose from my stool, and walked swiftly to the restroom. Jeans down (damn….that’s a mess) and I sat down on the seat. Spreading my knees as wide as the restrictive denim would permit, I jammed a hand between my legs and rubbed furiously. This wouldn’t take long….
..not even when I heard the outer door open and someone entered the next stall. A familiar scent wafted under the partition to me. Damn! Her! It certainly wouldn’t take long now I could smell her scent again…..hers! And the moment I heard her pee. I didn’t even have time to imagine her peeing on me. The mere sound…oh fuck..it sent me over into a crashing orgasm. One which had to be totally silent. Therefore, naturally, it was to be huge…immense….this orgasm demanded verbal release which I tried to deny. I couldn’t prevent my whole body spasming though. Neither could I prevent the long squirts that left me and hit the water below.
I heard the flush from next door, and the tap at the sink. A quick blast of hand drying hot air, and me, exhausted, flopped back against the cistern. Nothing to do now except to put several miles of toilet paper in the crotch of my jeans.
Outside, in the bar, she and her friends were just getting ready to leave.
Times change, and we change with the times. (Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis….probably not correct….I spent most of my Latin lessons masturbating in class).
It was lovely to see her grow into the goddess she has become, and with it the open-source wonder of what she looks like naked…how/when does she masturbate? What is her sex life like? And the more intimate, “What does she smell/taste like? Is she into anything kinky as I am?”
There’s no doubt about it…little Daisy will fill quite a few masturbatory sessions for me for quite a while to come.
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