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Something I shouldn’t show or touch and certainly not let anyone else see or touch. It was all embarrassing and made me shy. But my shyness must have been what attracted my teacher to take a special interest in me! I wasn’t much of a student and this played into his hands…did I write “hands?” and those fingers on his hands. I have never had such fun in school and after school. This is the story of how I learned to love my cunt. Mr. Emerson was our English teacher and we were studying poetry…studying anything was hard for japanese me, but poetry? That was extra hard. It was a time when lots of things were hard and confusing…there were my parents, my friends, my studies and…(whisper)…boys and lots of them…boys made us girls giggle and titter and lots of whispers teen about naughty things like sex and fucking. We couldn’t say that word out loud of course. Another such word was cunt. We could say most anything else but those two handjob words made us blush. We could even talk about boys’ penises but when it came to fucking and cunt those were “whisper words” and very personal. So I did learn things in school but there was so much to learn that was not in school…the rest of the world (and boys!). But, as I wrote, we were just then working on poetry and it was hard for me…I was desperate for a good grade so I could graduate and a bad grade in English wouldn’t help. In my mind I would do anything for a good English grade. It helped…I didn’t know it at the time…that my teacher was good looking. He wasn’t all that young but young enough that all us girls had fantasies or crushes on him and at lunch we would giggle about what might happen…if…well, you know, if our fantasies were ever played out in real time with this good looking man. “Sherry,” Mr. Emerson said to me one day, “you are having trouble with your grade in this class. Maybe you need extra help…see me after school and I will see if I can help.” I nodded and felt a thrill go through me thinking of being alone with my handsome teacher. He wasn’t a boy but a real true man and I guessed that was why I tingled. I got uncomfortable and adjusted on my chair which caused more tingles and I couldn’t wait until after school. Finally, thankfully, classes for the day were over. I went to my locker, checked my hair…touched my lips with some lipstick…put all my books, except my English book, in the locker and walked to Mr. Emerson’s room. He was in the back office at a desk and reading something. Maybe he had forgotten about me…I walked into his office and stood there…the light was behind me and I wondered if Mr. Emerson could see the outline of my body through my dress. Finally, he looked up…saw me…smiled, said: “Oh yes Sherry…I almost forgot. Come in and close the door. I closed the door and walked to his little asian desk. We were alone and I wondered about it all. “Let’s talk,” he said, “about poetry and why we study it…how you will learn to enjoy it because, after all, lots of poetry is about love and affection.” I was blushing and felt a thrill. I didn’t know why. Mr. Emerson opened a book on his desk and motioned me over beside him. I was breathing strangely and stood beside him looking down at the book. “This is the writing of Walt Whitman,” he said, “and much of his poetry is about love Small cocks and feelings…read this part.” I leaned over to look at the words and his arm went around my waist. It was warm and I wiggled very slightly and began to read the poem about men and women and “feeling myself…alive” and Mr. Emerson was rubbing my back. “What do you think,” he asked. “It’s nice,” I said, not knowing what else to say and then blurted out: “Your hand feels nice on my back Mr. Emerson.” and he rubbed up and down my spine. My legs were getting weak and I moved into him. “Are you okay?” he asked and I could only nod and hope he wouldn’t stop rubbing me. “I need a good grade,” I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said: “I know” and now his hand was on my bare leg, more rubbing. Her cheeks hollowed by suction as she took me deeper into her warm moist mouth. “It’s not just that.” Ian admitted. Ia5cD77PbitB . That was his Facebook password. “No worries.” Paul said casually, taking another sip. I did not mention that mother would often lay on that couch but had always told my sister and I that this room was for company. “Watch your face in the mirror, and it gets easier.” Inside it, on the many floors, I.T. staff serviced contracts for banks and insurance companies, petrochemical conglomerates and trading houses. Always trying to get a peak down my shirt?” When they were delivered and placed in proper order in her new bedroom, she found her nice bed, vanity asian and japanese high bureau there for her. He glanced in the corner of the room where our younger half-sister, Lee, squirmed. He didn't know what to say in response, so he settled for just patting her on the head handjob and saying, "Good slut," as though she teen was a horny dog. These garments are made intentionally too small, for they are created to solely present the wearer pleasingly to men. I started to bring my legs together when another on the girls said, "I'm driving Ms Collins back to her apartment now. She left it there and leant back as I dried her hair. “ what are you doing" I ask Cathy Nandi had never ridden a horse before, never fired a rifle even. A thick darkness had cloaked each campsite in relative privacy, save for the handful of fire circles spaced along the shore. I turned to see what it was and was shocked to see that it was a young man with a bucket in Small cocks his hand. Richard got a huge grin on his face.