Then, still grinning at him, she slipped her hand inside her panties.
He had started to refasten his jeans, but at this he simply ceased to move, one hand holding up his pants, the other on his zipper.
At first, her left hand still teasing her breast, she simply slid her fingers back forth beneath the elastic, dipping a little here and there but not really delving. After a while she took her hand out and hooked her thumb in the elastic, slowly tugging it half-way down her hip, and looking down at him with a mocking ‘should-I-or-shouldn’t –I’ expression.
Then she pulled down the other side until her panties were bunched at her hips, a small tuft of curly hair peeking out over the tightly stretched elastic.
Then she stopped and looked at him for a long, long moment.
Then, thumbs still hooked in her panties, slowly turned her back to him, giving him an unobstructed view of her almost entirely exposed behind. She looked back over her shoulder at him, smiled again, and then with great care began to ease her panties down her legs, past her knees, down her calves and finally to her ankles. Never letting go, bending lower and lower, giving him a good look. Then just as slowly straightening up and turning to face him, again raising her arms and clasping her hands behind her head. He had never seen her completely naked, and she wanted him to know that he was only doing so now because she had chosen to allow it.
And she wasn’t done with him yet.
Again she slowly lowered her right hand, bringing it to rest in the mound of curly hair, massaging it, running her fingers through it. She was just beginning to allow her middle finger to travel a little further, to explore the slick wetness between her legs, when she again saw him seem to come to his senses, at least momentarily.
He reached into his right -hand pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief with red polka-dots. He held it in his hand while he pulled his still-gaping jeans down around his ankles, and followed them with his underpants, his erection springing forth, almost tapping on the window.
Oh god, she thought, look at it. He’s standing outside my window with his pants down and his cock out–and I made him do it!
She imagined going out to him then, naked; imagined taking off the rest of his clothes; imagined rubbing herself against him, feeling his cock against her…oh god. Her middle finger began to travel a little faster now, the pictures in her mind, along with the actuality of him being there looking at her, beginning to overwhelm her.
But wait, what was he doing?
He was unfolding his handkerchief. Now he was holding it up to her with both hands, the red polka-dots looking almost like… Hearts! He was holding up the panties she had been wearing yesterday! He’d been carrying them around in his pocket!
For some reason she found this thought exciting–if a little disgusting. And now she watched, fascinated, as he took her panties, cupped them in his right hand, and began to stroke his erection with them–looking right at her as he did so.
Oh god, his cock in her panties!
It was almost as if he was rubbing against her from a distance. She continued to stroke herself, faster now, looking back at him and watching the head of his cock appearing and disappearing in the bright red and white nest of fabric in his hand.
Oh god, she wanted to do that, wrap her panties around his cock and stroke it…take the head into her mouth while she stroked the shaft…oh god, oh god, she was…she was going to…is he watching me…will he see me when I…oh god I’m going to…I’m…. Ah!…oh…GOD!
She convulsed, bending over, as the shockwave tore through her, leaving her gasping, one hand on the window frame for support. As she did so she saw him reach his climax, his head thrown back, his mouth open, gasping–she could hear his loud groan even through the glass.
She watched, amazed, as the white stuff spurted from his cock and fell to the ground, a few drops reaching the window and clinging there. She suddenly remembered the taste of it in her mouth, the slightly oyster-like texture as she swallowed it. And for a moment wondered if she could get pregnant that way. She didn’t think so, but she was going to do some research. Later. Much later. Oh god, she could hardly stand up…
They just stood where they were, panting. Smiling and looking at each other as if they had just ridden the world’s largest roller-coaster together. She watched with interest as his organ began to shrink, slowly returning to what she now assumed was its normal state. Saw him suddenly turn his head, listening to something, then quickly pull up his underwear and pants, stuffing her panties into his pocket. Looking up at her and realizing she hadn’t heard, he pointed toward the front of the house, gesturing emphatically several times.
Then he made her a sweeping bow and blew her a kiss, smiled and shook his finger at her, as if to say, ‘It’s not over yet’, and vanished into the near-darkness.
By then she could hear the sound of car wheels on gravel approaching.
Chapter Four
It was all right for him. All he had to do was zip up his fly and hide in the shadows for a couple of minutes until he could make his escape. She, on the other hand, naked and already breathing hard, had to jump down from the window-seat, grab her underwear and run through the house unlocking doors, switching on lights and appliances. Then scramble into her underwear, then the rest of her clothes and her glasses–snatched up from the floor where she’d dropped them–before dashing back into the living room to drape herself casually on the couch in front of the TV, using the hem of her shirt to wipe the perspiration from her face.
Though as it turned out her mother just stuck her head in to say good night before heading upstairs to bed.
For the next two weeks the two of them played a kind of tag in school. Every so often she would look up–in study hall, or the lunchroom–to find him looking at her. Tag. And then his eyes would quickly look away. Walking out of a class he would spot her, just passing by in the hall, giving him a quick sideways glance. Tag. Once, at a school event, she had chosen an empty seat in the middle of a row he was sitting in and, squeezing past him, brushed his knees with hers, not looking at him. Tag. Once, standing at her open locker, she felt the back of a hand brush across the back of her skirt and turned to see his retreating back. Tag.
In the evenings she would often sit in the window-seat with a book, every so often glancing down to where the drops he had spattered on the window, now dried and nearly translucent, still hung. (Her parents, if they noticed them at all, probably thought they were bird droppings.) If she were alone in the room, she might briefly cup and squeeze one of her breasts, or slip a hand into her shorts. But rarely for long, and never to completion.
She was waiting.
They never publicly acknowledged each other’s existence in any way. Never spoke, publicly or privately. Yet somehow it was communicated that they would both be attending the school’s annual Spring Fling dance that Saturday. This was the last all-school dance before the Graduation Ball. Semi-formal dress was required.