Birth of the Ringtaker # 1 by Ringtaker
They how it all happened, the why? Still a mystery , Don’t ask me where it all came from. I just don’t know. I would tell you if I knew, but I don’t. Maybe I have a wire crossed. Maybe there’s too much or too few of the right kind of hormones being secreted. Maybe it’s just there’s a hole in my character. Whatever it is, I accepted it a long time ago. When did it start you ask? Geez, gotta be sometime around a year or 2 after puberty. I hit it right after my 11th birthday. It was a slow, gradual process at first. When year 12 came, it all hit me like a ton of bricks and I wasn’t close to being prepared for it. I’m an only child so no big brothers to help me understand what was happening to my body. Dad’s philosophy was obviously just ignore me and any issues I might be having. I had friends to be sure but hell, most of them were as bad off as I was.
What’s the problem exactly you ask?
Wedding rings.
Diamond wedding bands. Gold wedding bands. Engagement rings. Wedding sets. Any derivation of the subject, I can’t fucking get enough of them. You name it, it’s a major turn on for me. Specifically women’s wedding sets.
I can remember to the day when this incessant attraction hit me and hit me hard. I was 13 years old and in the 7th grade. There I was sitting in 7th grade math class and BOOM! Mrs. White was meandering through all our desks during a test, obviously seeking to catch an errant eye looking to cheat. She passed just to my right side. She paused, resting the dainty fingertips of her lovely hand at the corner of my desk. Thank God she wasn’t paying attention to me. The set was nothing flashy. An average looking round cut diamond solitaire on a thin gold band match with an equally thin gold wedding band. I got a boner like you wouldn’t believe. I managed to suppress my instant urges and get back on the test. I wrote it off to mere hormones and lust for one of the hottest teachers in the school. Platinum blonde, MAYBE 27, better than average titts and just enough ass to be popular in the ghetto.
That satisfied my moral center for about a week. Then I found myself sitting in civics class and it happened again. This time the object of my lust was Mrs. Davis. She was the frumpy mid/late 40-ish teacher that no one wanted. Mean and cranky most of the time, looks wise there was little to want, need or desire. Dishwater blonde hair that had been invaded by the silver monster, a wrinkled face, titts were already sagging and zero ass. Her shape was a decidedly unattractive pear shape. I was sitting up front, the closest to her desk thanks to my proclivity to want to chat on “her time”. The wedding set was a cluster of round diamonds circling a slightly larger center stone, all anchored to a thin yellow gold band. The wedding band was a thick yellow gold showing the same obvious signs of wear and aging as Mrs. Davis. The growth in my pants was instantaneous. It was all I could do to keep the entire class from seeing me, or at least that’s what my paranoia told me. I got home and decided I had the makings of a problem that disturbed me greatly. Said disturbance took a decidedly frightening turn just a few short days later.
I had to go to the school office. This time it wasn’t due to any offense, instead I was there to see about seeing my guidence counselor about making a positive change in my classes for 8th grade. Mrs. Cole was the school secretary. A decade before she probably was hotter than hell. Raven black hair was now lightly sprinkled with some grey streaks. She had smallish, pert titts but did posess such a tight little ass. No engagement ring this time, instead it was a simple yellow gold band. I’d approximate the width at 4.5mm. Have you ever been just sitting somewhere and seemingly pass into an almost dreamlike state? I did. It’s like I stepped out of my body. I was standing there looking at myself. I know what I was doing but for some reason it just didn’t seem to matter like it should. I watched as my hand lifted from the desk where it had been resting. I watched as my fingers stretched out. The world seemingly stopped for the briefest of moments as reality came crashing back down on me when Mrs. Cole yelled at me and asked why I was touching her hand. As bad as that was, I found relief down deep that she hadn’t realized what I was actually doing.
I buried all of this for as long as I could. I tried to deny my lust. What was quickly becoming a major fetish for me was something I couldn’t allow. I went to church. I had plans to go to college and either become a preacher or an Air Force pilot (interesting dichotomy, eh?). I was always a good boy and this garbage was going to end up getting me into trouble, I just knew it was.
Then it happened.
It had been 2 months since my little encounter with Mrs. Cole. There’d been no repercussion from the incident. Along the way I’d discovered masturbation, my new best friend and horrid curse (to me at the time anyway). I was convinced anyone could look at me and see the hideous, lustful creature I’d become. I was terrified that I’d be found out. I just couldn’t keep from jerking off. I did it in my bed. I jerked off in the shower. I would jerk off in the bathroom at school. It didn’t matter. The haunting vision of a wedding set on the hand of a woman instantly made her hand exponentially more attractive to me. I just couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried.
Homecoming week.
We had a massive pep rally. Our football team was scheduled to play our most hated rival. The entire junior high and high school classes were allowed to attend. I’d estimate the size of the crowd was in the 500 range including students, teachers and administrators. In the midst of proclaiming just exactly how bad we were going to beat our rivals, some idiot pulled a fire alarm. The widely held suspicion was a senior from the other school did it to disrupt the pep rally which it most certainly did. Mrs. Wallace instantly corralled her homeroom class at the bottom of the bleachers just ahead of our class. She tailed her class as they joined the huge throng headed for one of 2 major exits. The entire crowd was asshole to belly button crowded. The massed exodus would have made Bourbon St. over Mardi Gras proud. Mrs. Wallace was at alternate times 2-6 people ahead of me depending on the movement of the crowd. As we neared the exit and were funneled together, I was separated from her by 2 students. An insane idea lept into my brain and before I had time to squelch it, I acted. Snaking my hand through the crowd I reached for her left hand. Once I knew I had the right hand, I turned my head and looked in another direction as I kept her in my peripheral vision. She didn’t know what was happening until it had already happened. Mrs. Wallace was a tall, slender woman. Her rings hung loose on her long thin finger. They were just there. I wrapped my fingers around her rings, gave a quick jerk downward and felt them drop. With almost catlike agility I sidestepped about 5 places. I heard her deep, sexy voice boom above the roar of the crowd of 500 different conversations going on at once.