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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: christen.txt (mf-teens, voy, mast, school)
Authors name: Hugo Alkaviade (alkaviade@cyberdude.com)
Story title : Christine

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 1998.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Christine (mf-teens, voy, mast)
by Hugo Alkaviade (alkaviade@cyberdude.com)

***

Boy meets girl, but she just wants to be friends. Boy 
gets a hold of her panties and jacks off in them. Girl 
gets pissed off.

***

I turn off the lights. Only the black and white TV screen 
lights the bedroom. Some late night show about surfing. 
It takes only a minute to undress and put on my pajamas. 
A glance at the mirror on the wall gives me a view of my 
body - not very handsome, not that tall, and much hairier 
than I'd like it to be.

In the room next door, my parents have been sleeping for 
hours.

I can't tell which one is snoring, but the noise sure is 
loud. They always go to bed early. Staying up late to see 
a movie on the TV or going to the cinema is impossible 
for them, because they must get up very early in the 
morning to catch the bus in time to get to work.

As for me, I can stay in bed for a little while, waiting 
for my own bus to take me to school. Tomorrow is Monday; 
so another week of state-financed education awaits me. I 
hate Mondays. That's one of the reasons I stay up so late 
on Sundays. Maybe I can extend the weekend for a few 
hours before going to bed.

I pull the blankets over me after putting my glasses on 
the little table by my bed, and turning off the TV.

*

The alarm clock rings. My hand quickly slips under the 
sheets to stop it. Here we go again. The water from the 
shower helps me to wake up. If my family weren't so poor 
I'd probably smell oats and the acid odor of freshly-made 
orange juice. But no. As I get out of the bathroom, all I 
can smell is cat's urine. Why does mom insist on keeping 
a cat? It's breakfast time. Opening the fridge reveals a 
slice of yesterday's pizza. I eat it avidly.

Looking at the window, I can see the other building 
across the street, which looks exactly like this building 
and the other building in this neighborhood. Red brick 
walls with small windows and no balconies. I'd sure like 
to have a balcony. The fire escape ladder keeps rusting.

Better not use the elevator. It broke down three times 
last month, and poor Mrs. Goldberg got the scare of her 
life, kept inside that claustrophobic space for a couple 
of hours before someone listened to her calls for help. 
It's the stairs, then. Running down all seven flights 
gives me a speeding heartbeat. I can already hear the 
sound of the slow yellow school bus. Trying to catch my 
breath, I get out of the building and move to the bus 
stop.

Not much time passes before it arrives. I get in it and 
take my usual seat, one of the seats at the front. Cool 
kids ride at the back of the bus. The geeks ride at the 
front. Even at four or five rows distance, I can smell 
the sweet perfume that Christine uses. She is the 
prettiest girl I have ever seen. Her long black hair 
comes down to her shoulders. Green eyes enhance her 
already beautiful face. 

She has a boyfriend, Jack. Jack is one of those sport 
champions. He's so perfect he could join the Hitlerian 
youth, if there were still a Hitlerian youth. That's what 
really pisses me off. How is a guy like me going to 
compete with guys like them?

The bus stops. We get out and stand before an unexpected 
scene.

One car has crashed against the school wall. A large 
number of kids are gathered around the obviously drunk 
driver and a police officer is placing him under arrest. 
I notice Christine and Jack pass by me - he bumps my 
shoulder - as they rush to join the crowd. Only then I 
notice that she is wearing a very tight pair of shorts. 
Her butt is really very nice. Not too large and not too 
small. Just right.

Trying to remain unnoticed by her, I positioned myself 
behind and to her left. Other kids keep coming to see the 
accident, so she is totally surrounded, while I am at 
only a couple of feet away from her. My hand starts 
moving towards her. After a final check that the other 
kids' attention is completely drawn to the drunk man, I 
run my hand between her butt cheeks in a vertical 
movement, then quickly withdraw it.

She suddenly looks around but can't figure out who 
touched her; she whispers something in her boyfriend's 
ear. He looks all around menacingly, but from the 
surprise on the faces of the people standing by him, he 
can't figure out who did it either.

The bell rings. It's time for my math class. The crowd 
that had gathered suddenly disperses. I walk through 
familiar hallways and reach the classroom. The class 
begins. Several equations fill the blackboard and we 
start copying them. The first ones are quite easy to 
solve, but difficulty increases as one passes to the 
next.

My mind starts to wander....

Her ass had been tight, all right. The cheeks seemed soft 
but firm at the same time. When I had touched her I had 
taken great care to be gentle when the tips of my fingers 
were precisely below her pussy (or so I calculated by a 
not-so-educated guess). I suspect I may have been right, 
because, at that very moment, she had shivered in a way 
that she wouldn't have if I had not touched that 
sensitive spot.

I knew my hand would have to be at a safe distance from 
her in just a few seconds, so I had moved it upwards, 
always keeping it in contact with her butt, before 
pulling it away in a fast and precise gesture. Now that I 
think about it, I had been really lucky that she couldn't 
tell which one of the kids had felt her, for I would have 
been sure to arrive home severely injured if Jack had 
gotten his hands on me.

"Michael!"

Someone is calling my name. It is the teacher. Suddenly 
awoken from my day-dreaming, I am being called to solve 
some of the exercises on the blackboard. As I am about to 
stand up, I suddenly realize I have a hard-on. Close to 
panic and on the verge of seeing the volume between my 
legs being exposed to the entire class, I have to think 
quickly. I take my copy-book and hold it next to my 
groin. I then stand up and go solve the equation.

I don't know about you, but solving equations kind of 
turns me off; by the time I was halfway through, I could 
safely look at my copy-book to see if I was doing the 
math right.

A few classes later, it was lunch time. When I got to the 
canteen, she was already there, sitting next to - you 
guessed it - Jack. As I was waiting for my turn in the 
single file, I couldn't stop looking at her. As the fork 
approached her lips, her mouth opened and revealed her 
perfect white teeth. I could see faint glances of her 
tongue. What forbidden pleasures could that tongue allow, 
should I be the one in her heart?

My turn finally comes. A fat and sweaty woman fills the 
dishes with an undetermined nutritive mass. I take one of 
the dishes and a pack of milk. Sitting next to Christine 
is impossible. Her table is filled with guys who probably 
would start to bully me the second I sat down. Eating 
that garbage is torture enough, without seeing her so 
close and not being able to reach her. With great effort, 
the so-called food on my plate gradually vanishes and I'm 
ready for another class.

As I have some spare time, I go to the computer room. 
Lucky me, there's one free PC. Checking e-mail... No, the 
system administrator still hasn't answered my request for 
extra disk quota. How typical. Well, I guess I'll have to 
kill some time by watching Mr. Lee and Mrs. Anderson's 
home-made vacation video once more. And there she goes 
again! Taking Mr. Lee's penis in her mouth... Another 
scene shows her taking it where Nature intended it to be 
taken.

Does Christine have a shaven pussy, as Mrs. Anderson has? 
Which positions does she favor? Would she become wet by 
the touch of a man's hand over her breasts, or would she 
need additional stimulation - not necessarily by hand 
only - on her genitalia? Would licking her pussy bring a 
taste of urine - however faint - to my tongue? Are her 
labia majora as swollen as Mrs. Anderson's, or are they 
thin and delicate? I am absolutely sure her breasts don't 
have silicone implants as do the ones Mrs. Anderson has, 
but how do they look when exposed to the sun? Are they 
very firm and stand in all of their glory, or are they 
somewhat flaccid and tend to droop?

One can only try to guess the answers to these 
conjectures.

Another hour, another boring class. Physics. If a time 
machine is ever invented, I will surely volunteer to go 
back and terminate Mr. Newton. While I'm at it, I might 
even put a bullet in Herr Lebnitz's head and stab 
Monsieur Cauchy and Monsieur Lagrange in the back.

Christine is going to have her gymnastics class. I can't 
miss that. Off I go to the sports field. Some girls are 
on the field, and some are still coming out of the locker 
room. They are jumping and running, their breasts moving 
up and down, up and down....

I lie down on the lawn to conceal my growing erection. As 
I remain there, it comes to full size, and I can feel my 
underwear becoming slightly wet from pre-cum.

The locker room....

There are moments when my mind is assaulted by evil 
thoughts. At those times, ideas start flowing at fast 
rate and cunning plans are made. My heart starts to beat 
faster.

The locker room's entrance is somewhat concealed by a low 
wall, so if a person is standing on the play field, she 
can't see who goes in and out. The beating of my heart 
has reached a very fast rate.

The girls move far off to the opposite side of the field. 
This is my chance. Without being noticed, I manage to get 
in their locker room. A row of hangers is on the eastern 
wall. I go straight to her clothes and pull my pants and 
boxers down to my knees. An erection starts to take 
shape. Soon my penis is pointing straight at her clothes, 
just like if it had a will of its own.

A thin string of saliva drops from my lips to my hand. 
The hand is placed around my penis, a familiar feeling. I 
let the saliva reach the same temperature as my dick 
before proceeding. Then I start. My hand moves slowly 
forward and backward. When it reaches the base, a portion 
of it is left uncovered, at the tip. A gentle breeze 
coming from an opened window high above meets that part 
and makes me shiver. As usual, my testicles move closer 
to my body. I cup them with my free hand - inside them, I 
notice movement.

I wonder if I am successful at imitating with my hand the 
feelings I would have if I were actually inside a woman's 
cunt... The wetness and warmth are there, but I am sure 
that only with the presence of the woman will I be able 
to fully appreciate sex.

The movement continues. With all my practice, I can now 
hold back for as long as I like. Will I be able to do as 
well if it happens for real? I fear I will be too nervous 
and probably even ejaculate before - or shortly after - 
penetrating her.

Nice ceiling.

From outside, the noise of about twenty girls exercising 
can be heard. What would happen if one of them were to 
come in now? Just thinking of that makes me incredibly 
excited. Would I have the guts to face her and finish 
what I had started right on her shirt, or would I chicken 
out and run? What would the consequences be, should I 
choose not to be a chicken?

The tension accumulated reaches the level that tells me 
I'm close to orgasm. Slowing the rhythm, I try to make it 
last some more time. Occasionally, when I'm at home 
alone, I stop for a while and start over, a minute or so 
later.

Looking down, I contemplate my penis. Its tip is the 
shape of a cone, because it's circumcised. The wetness on 
the skin makes it look glossy under the lights of the 
cloak-room. Two or three veins are visible.

I remove my left hand from my testicles and grab 
Christine's panties, that tiny piece of cotton still 
impregnated with her scent.

I hold the panties in front of my dick and prepare to 
mess them.

Contracting my buttocks, I push forward as I feel the 
flow of sperm moving closer to the outside world. Then a 
jet of white, thick come is expelled from my pulsating 
penis and lands on Christine's panties. Several other 
jets follow, each one with less intensity than the last, 
and I make sure all of my fluid lands exactly where it is 
supposed to land. A feeling of fulfillment and general 
fatigue invades me.

Her panties are totally soaked. I put them back where 
they were.

It's a good thing the girl's locker room has liquid soap. 
I wash my hands and my penis.

Looking around the entrance reveals no one in sight, so I 
can exit safely. I go and sit at a safe distance, 
pretending to read a physics book.

A month prior to the aforementioned event....

It was with a heart filled with fear and a rose in my 
hand that I approached her. She was at the park, autumn 
leaves falling at her feet, sitting there near the red 
fish pond. "May I sit beside you?" I asked.

"Indeed you may," she said. By the blush on my face, for 
which the rose's deep red was no rival, she could - and 
indeed, to the best of my knowledge, she did - foretell 
my intention. For longer than I would have wished, we 
talked about all sorts of uninteresting things.

Then, knowing that I would not be able to express my 
feelings through words, I put the red rose down in her 
lap. She looked at me, noticeably amused. My knees were 
shaking. My lips were dry, as I noticed when the softness 
of her cheek came in contact with them. After that first 
kiss, I drew back. She looked at me. "Listen, Michael, I 
think you're a very nice guy, but that's all." As she 
walked away, leaves kept falling from nearby trees. The 
red rose stayed on the ground.

I sat there for a long while. My lips where no longer 
dry, for drops of salty water had made them moist.

Back to the present....

The girls are coming out of the locker room. It seems 
they are unusually agitated. In particular, Christine 
looks very pissed.

The End?

I really would appreciate feedback. E-mail: 
alkaviade@cyberdude.com

This story may not be sold. It can be freely archived, 
distributed, and reposted as long as it is not chanced in 
any way and the author's email address remains attached.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 17