textfiles/sex/EROTICA/H/hijinx.txt

High School Hijinx
by SweeTV

******

Many people cherish their high school memories. Some recall the idyllic
days of youth; some reflect longingly on loves past; others remember
events that shaped their lives in some way. The memory of how Noreen --
my tarty TV persona -- first found appreciation for her feminine gifts
is still vivid in my reminiscence.

It was early in the spring of my senior year. I had been home alone the
previous evening, prancing around the house in one of my mom's evening
dresses, and reveling in how sleekly it fit, when the thought struck
me: Why shouldn't her clothes fit me well?

I was an inch taller than her five-foot-two, some five pounds heavier
than her even hundred -- and wasn't going to grow any more. I shared
her supple build; my narrow shoulders and slim back certainly weren't
any brawnier than hers. I studied my reflection in the closet mirror,
and took further stock of my inheritance. My feet, shod in a pair of
her black pumps, were within a half-size of hers. I had her slim
dancer's legs -- the same long, tapering calves and trim thighs. And my
ass... I lifted the back of the skirt, and savored the sight; sheathed
in sheer pantyhose, my butt was full and beautifully heart-shaped. My
round, girlish hips narrowed to an astonishingly small waist; and my
taut, globular cheeks rose to a delectably dimpled sacrum. I shook my
nylon-clad ass at the mirror, fondling its curves with opera-gloved
hands, and stared, transfixed.

The next day, standing in the shower in the boy's locker room and
remembering the previous evening, I must have unconsciously assumed the
same pose. I know I was on tiptoe, swaying my hips slightly, when I
awoke from my reverie, water still streaming on my face, and turned to
find Coach Russ staring at me from the doorway. He blinked,
straightened, and yelled over the water. "C'mon, E," he said, using my
last name in typical jock fashion, "I gotta close this place up."

Coach Russ was an OK sort; he assisted in teaching the afternoon phys
ed classes, after spending his mornings working on his education degree
at a local university. He'd been a hurdler in college, and carried his
well-honed physique with an easy grace.

He stood, glancing at his watch, as I hurriedly dried myself in the
shower room's vestibule. I wrapped the towel around my hips, and
crossed the wet tiles toward him. Coach Russ looked up; a peculiar,
almost puzzled, expression crossed his normally affable features as he
watched me approach. "Sorry, Coach," I said, pausing at the doorsill.
He stared down at me a moment longer, flushed, looked at his watch
again, and muttered, "That's all right. Get dressed and get outta
here."

I turned into the row housing my locker, and stopped short, seeing what
Coach Russ must have seen. In the mirror at the end of the row stood a
short, slender, long-limbed girl, a towel hugging her hips like a
sarong. Her pubescent nipples were delectable buds on her bare torso.
(I have nipples like double-sized Hershey's Kisses. I was quite
conscious of them then, and always wore a thick jersey under my tank
top in gym class, even on the hottest days. Coach Russ must have gotten
his first eyeful of them.) Long, curling tendrils of wet hair spilled
to her shoulders, framing the soft features of her Asian-doll face. I
ogled the waif in the mirror a heartbeat longer, then dressed and went
home.

As usual, I was home alone that evening; as usual, I spent my time
alone wearing something from my mom's extensive wardrobe. I sat at my
desk, doing homework, clad in basic black: A black camisole, a little
black thong bikini, and a black hairband holding my shoulder-length
hair away from my lightly-made-up face. Needing a break, I rose,
stretched, and strolled over to my mirrored closet. I struck a few
poses, critiquing the illusion of femininity I presented, and pondered
the effect I'd had on Coach Russ that afternoon. Reaching a decision, I
stripped, and went to the shower to do some serious homework.

I pilfered a bottle of my mom's Nair, and coated my legs from my toes
to my bikini line. While letting the Nair work its magic, I shaved what
little hair I had on my torso, and freshened my already smooth
underarms. I rinsed the shaving cream and Nair away, reveled in my
slippery sleekness for a minute, then set to work on my pubic hair with
comb, scissors, and razor. I reduced my bush to a bikini-model's
stripe, then lathered up between my legs, and shaved my boy-pearls and
my perineum clean. I showered, applied a moisturizer all over, and put
on silk pajamas. Too distracted to concentrate on schoolwork, I spent
the rest of the evening in bed, caressing my newly-smooth body through
the silk.

I barely got to gym class -- my last class -- on time the next day.
Coach Russ was already prowling the locker room for stragglers as I put
on my trunks. "C'mon, E, roll call in 30 seconds!" he said. On impulse,
I left my jersey in my locker, and donned only the thin cotton tank top
of my uniform. Coach Russ was standing by the exit as I walked up. He
was opening his mouth to speak when I stopped and lifted my shirt,
baring my nipples. His mouth stayed open as I struck a demure pose and
thrust my nipples at him. They hardened nicely under his disbelieving
gaze. I smiled up at his reddening face, dropped my shirt, and trotted
casually out to roll call.

I dawdled after class, helping put equipment away, then took a
leisurely shower. As I turned the taps off, Coach Russ stuck his head
in the doorway. "You're makin' a habit of this, E," he growled. I
smiled, pointedly turned my back to him, and took my time toweling off.
I finished, wrapped the towel low on my hips, and turned; he stood
leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest, his face
expressionless.

I gave him another smile, brushed past him through the door, and knelt
on the nearest bench. I let my towel fall to the floor and clasped my
hands behind my head. I arched my back to present my nipples and ass to
best advantage, and pouted prettily at him. I'd practiced that pose in
front of the mirror many times; I knew how devastatingly carnal and
feminine I looked. Coach Russ' face wasn't expressionless anymore,
though he fought visibly to keep it that way; his eyes drank in my
delectably hairless nakedness with undisguised hunger. I smiled again,
stepped to the floor, and, imitating my mom's graceful, lilting walk,
pranced nude to my locker. Coach Russ stood by the exit, keys in hand,
as I left the locker room. He looked at me, shook his head slightly,
and, with a wry smile, said softly, "You know, E, you're almost
pretty." "Almost?" I blurted, mildly outraged. A sudden idea blossomed.
"Just wait till tomorrow," I said, and hurried off, an inner excitement
warming me.

The five periods before gym class the next day seemed endless. When
last period finally rolled around, I dressed and made roll call without
incident. I helped stow equipment again after class, then took a
particularly leisurely shower. Coach Russ was leaning against the door,
tapping his foot, as I left the showers. I wrapped the towel around my
head, turban style, and posed beside him, hands on my hips, one foot on
the sill, naked to his gaze. "Can you lock up and wait in your office?"
I asked. "I have something I want to show you." He gave me a
speculative, lingering once-over, then nodded and turned to do as I
asked.

I rushed to my locker, opened my gym bag, and put on the things I'd
stashed there. A sheer white camisole, with filmy material that clung
to the dark peaks of my nipples, went on first. I tucked my boy-clit
into a matching thong, which separated and framed my ass-cheeks
delectably. I tied my hair back with a white bandeau, leaving a fringe
of bangs over my eyes, applied a neutral gloss to my full lips, and
admired the overall effect in the mirror. Then, heart pounding and
mouth dry, I hurried to Coach Russ' office.

Coach Russ sat, leaning back in his chair and staring into space, as I
entered. He snapped upright with a thump as I shut the door. I posed
and let him admire me in silence, then stepped closer and turned. I
stood on tiptoe, hands on hips, offering a rear view for his
delectation. Still no sound from him. I crossed the remaining distance,
straddled his lap, and put my arms behind my head as I faced him. My
hardened nipples bulged through my sheer lingerie. I pouted, and asked,
"Pretty enough for you, Coach?" in Noreen's musical contralto. He
moaned softly, his hands stealing around my hips.

Suddenly, I was on my back on his desk, arching my aching nipples to
his fingers. He moaned deep in his throat as he rubbed, pinched, and
fondled electric sensations from my hard knobs. He stopped, panting,
then picked me up and set me on my feet. "Put some clothes on over
these, pretty girl," he said, nodding at my lingerie. "You're coming
home with me." A thrill rushed through me as I hurried to comply.

That evening, Russ sucked and fondled my breasts until I was giddy,
then gently introduced my butt-cunt to the pleasures of his cock. Later
that spring, I had my first cross-dressed date with him; Noreen left
her lipstick on a cock for the first time that night. The things we did
together that summer, before I left for college, are tales for another
time.

FIN