Some days are like weeks. Lunchtime came. I waited. Expectant, but willing myself not to be too disappointed. How many times can you reach under a public toilet and masturbate a lovely pussy. Well I can tell you, I've been in thousands of public toilets in my life, many fairly dodgy, and erotic experiences have only happened ... er, four times. Which is either a lot, or pathetically little, depending on the sort of life you've lead and toilets you've frequented. Anyhow, there was no real reason to expect yesterday to happen today.
It didn't.
Life's a bitch, etc.
I was crushed with my own stupidity. Some things are golden moments that happen just once in a life. You have to treasure them there and then, and just let them go. They'll never come around again.
Still, a week later, I couldn't help wonder. Perhaps it was in her timetable. Double Geography, then English followed by being masturbated by a stranger in the girls' loo instead of going to library for your study period.
I sat on my private porcelain throne in a state of high agitation, imagining every bagged door would announce the arrival of my little girl.
And then it did.
Of course, I didn't know which one. But one of them was my mystery lover. I knew she was there, even before the piece of paper slip into my cubical. The bell was gone already, and we'd both sat there silently for five minutes - just checking.
"Hello it me. My name is Rita" it read (badly). Hmmmmmmm ... Rita? I wracked my brain. This was always a bad time of year. With so many new faces and names in the school. Did I know a Rita ... For a moment I thought about writing back, "Whose form are you in?" Then I mentally slapped myself and told myself to turn off that teacher gene, so I wrote, "My name is Emily, can I come in?"
I hesitated. What if she said yes - would she hate me for being a teacher? What if she said yuck, no way!? Could we carry on as before? Would my question ruin everything?
But then, what if I didn't ask and I never had a chance to meet this mystery lover.
"Yes", came the reply. I clutched the notepaper to my chest. I opened my door and stood in front of hers, hand raised to knock, when the blot slid and the disabled toilet door slowly opened.
A young girl looked up at me with total shock in her face. Sandy brown hair, cut short, contoured her oval head - more a boy with a girlish haircut that a girlish one. Centre-parted, it fringed her face like a cap. Her brown eyes, as wide as dinner plates, stared in surprised confusion in mine. I could have drowned in eyes like that, and promptly, did. Button nose, small mouth, her slender frame was half tomboyish - half gauche-girlie. Her breasts were clearly budding, but only just. She had no waist, and her belly bulged in that hollowed back way of young girls.
I must have looked fearful. She certainly did. Suddenly I remembered that I was teacher, and I must be frightening for her ("why aren't you in class?") and confusing for her (was she last week's finger's?).
I closed the door behind me, and we stood for a moment as strangers miles apart in the intimacy of the disabled toilet.
"Hello Rita." I ventured. "I enjoyed ..." I searched hard for the right word but only came up with "playing together last week. Did you?"
Rita broke my gaze and looked at the floor. "Yes, but I..." Her voice trailed, "I mean ..." she looked up at me again, her words failing again.
"I know." I struck what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile, without a glimmer of fear of being rejected for being 26 years older than she imagined. (Fuck! 26 years! But it was only the day before yesterday when I was just a girl!).
I kneeled down in front her to bring my head closer to her level, and took her hand. I placed the palm of her hand against me cheek, and then placed it over my lips and kissed it. "I thought last week was magical, Rita."
I tried a rye grin (yes, yes, I was deploying my full range of flirty facial expressions - but I needed this). "I bet you never thought "Big School" would be like this." Rita smiled back and shakes her head.
I reached out my hand on her face. I stroked her cheek, bushed her forehead and ran my hand down through her fine hair. "You're so pretty" I quietly gushed, "so very very pretty ... I wish you were in one of my classes, I'd gaze at you all day."
Rita smiled back, obviously a little unaccustomed to being petted with loving words.
I drew her towards me. She didn't resist. "I would like us to be to most special secret friends". My arms engulfed her in a hug, and my mind raced through the lovely girls I'd known. My daughter Amy, now nearly a woman, a honey-pot for any stray hormone, whose special love filled me so completely. My neighbour's girl, Ellis, whose infatuated worship of the beautiful, elegant and wise woman next door (who turns out to be me, apparently) is more like a teeny-bopper fan than a lover; yet whose need for me is so arousing. My first born, Jennifer, given away for adoption, who returned to me to fill a Jennifer-sized whole I never realised was there. And now this stranger, snuggling into my neck, what would she bring to me - what could I give her.
I allowed one hugging hand to drop down the curve of her back ... well it wanted to go, and I couldn't stop it. Her buttock was both bony and plump together, boyish in the way my own small hand could fondle it whole in the cup of my palm. Little arms flung themselves up around my neck. I could feel my heart thumping. I hugged her tight, till her poking ribs were hurting my small titties - and I didn't care.
"Missssss" she whispered warmly in my ear.
"Emily" I corrected, "in this special place, you must call me Emily"
"Em-mer-ley" she intoned back at me, "Oh, good, 'cos I can't remember your other name. It's a funny one, isn't it M ... Em-mer-ley"
"Yes it is a funny foreign one."
I stood Rita by the toilet, and reached up under her skirt. She seemed strangely paralysed as my fingers snaked under the elastic at the top of her panties. "We haven't got long together, Rita darling. I think it would be nice if we played again."
Rita sort of nodded, sort of held her breadth. I began to pull her panties down over the bulge of her bottom, out from between her thighs, and then down her thin legs. It was a thong. I was shocked. What mother would buy their eleven-year-old daughter a thong? They were bright white, soft cotton, with a large pink star sown into the front just above where her pussy mound would start to rise. They said "innocent slut" in one garment. And then I remembered that Rita wasn't a virgin, and wondered who else had seen this tong and thought the same?
Resisting the powerful urge to fold the pretty little thong into my face, I put them down, and put a hand slowly back up her skirt. She was waiting for me, quite passive, quite patient - and I wondered again who she had done this sort of this for before?
"May I..." I felt I needed her permission, "May I play with you?"
She put her hand on the top of my head and stroked my hair in a surprisingly tender gesture ... the child mothering the woman, "I would like that" she said in her gravest tiny girl voice.
My fingers touched her sweet pussy again. It was dry this time, powdery dry. She sat a little awkward, letting me finger her, yet trying at the same time to take it all in. Stripped of the anonymity of the dividing wall it was like we were looking at each other in some sort of hyper-reality ... as if that bazaar place in your head where dreams just aren't allowed to come true had just been invaded.
I couldn't bear her looking at me as I softly fondled her little girlie cunt. Her eyes seemed to ask what sort of woman could enjoy sex like this. Yet ask me to do it at the same time. I needed anonymity. I lifted her skirt and ducked my head down between of skinny legs. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my darling Rita's pussy. I pressed my nose into the heart stoppingly smooth contours of her pussy and inhaled deeply. She smelled of sugar and spice and all things nice ... well, OK, she smelled on soap and clean laundry and just the tiniest hint of wee. I could have worn Rita on my nose all day.
I dabbed a tongue between her puffy pussy lips. Rita sighed a long sigh of contentment, leaned back, opened her legs a little wider, and put a hand on the top of my head again, the way guys do when you're sucking them off, and felt my head slowly nod up and down the short slit of her warm cunt.
She aroused only slowly, on that hard toilet seat, in the starch white tiles of a toilet fused with the smell of pee and soap and bleach ... with a mature woman kneeling in front of her, devoted to licking the very tenderist parts of her young body. Slowly, but strongly. I never deviated from my goal. I licked her slit; I twiddled her clit with my tongue, and twirled my tongue around her vagina - poking it occasionally. Just that ... again and again and again. Sometimes just with the tip of my tongue, sometimes with the base of my tongue, sometimes with my tongue held rigid. I lapped Iike a dog. I sucked like a suckie thing that likes nothing more than sucking a lot. I nibbled. I bit very gently. I gnawed. I brought her off with a head clamping, quivering, body shaking cum that seemed to go and go and felt as if it might snap my neck as her pussy jerked in my face, till she pushed my head away, her super-sensitive pussy not able to take me any more.
I rose unsteadily. Thank God it was a disabled toilet, those handrails came in very handy. My knees hurt, my neck creaked and my tongue was so numb and I could hardly talk. It had been a while since I'd been happier.
Rita sprung off the toilet and let me sit down. She took a tissue and wiped my face. "Your face is all wet" she fussed.
"You like looking after people, don't you?" She nodded even as she pushed the tissue between my legs and into the toilet bowel.
"Would you like me to ... you know ... as well."
"Eat my pussy, Rita. Yes, I would love you to eat my pussy, if you'd like, but first, I'm bursting to go."
I scooped my panties to my ankles (a black silk thong, for those of you with an eye for detail), raised my skirt to my waist, opened my legs as vulgarly as I could, and for Rita's kinky education, started to gush a giant heavy stream of pee. It was the sort you usually get after a few pints of beer. It was the sort you usually do when trying not to, crouched behind a bush in public, getting pee down your legs. I happily peed and the bowel of the toilet echoed and gurgled back at me.
Rita looked at me as if I'd managed some especially impressive circus trick. Perhaps she'd never actually seen pee leave someone's body before. I wiped myself dry and then beckoned her forward.
She looked doubtful, my vulgar urination having triggered the "dirty" alarm in her. Girls hate "dirty" - even if they come to love sexy-dirty.
I sat her on my lap, pushed my face into hers, and kissed.
I don't why children can't kiss well, but they can't. Perhaps their months are too small or their tongues too short. Or perhaps no matter how good they get at the mechanics of sexy games, they lack the depth of emotion needed for great hot kissing. I can see it in my Amy, even as she's a few months off fifteen, and I know I'm losing a child, I'm gaining an increasingly good kisser.
We kissed, we hugged. The bell went. The fucking bell. Our moment together was gone and we'd barely started! Fuck Fuck Fuck.
"I need to see you tomorrow" I spoke with thinly disguised panic, "Come and see me in my room before school, we'll work out when we can play again. OK? You'll come?"
Rita nodded and I let her go.
I thought of nothing the rest of the day but of ways I could be with Rita privately without arousing suspicion, but with arousing ourselves - especially poor ME!
I could offer her private Maths lessons. That was always good. Couldn't do it more than once a week, but it was pretty secure.
I could go on meeting in the toilet - but it was risky. We'd got away with it twice. We'd been lucky. But it was too public - and we both really should be somewhere else then.
We could meet on the weekend and I could take her out somewhere. But if we were seen together it would be difficult to explain.
And then I thought Duh! Duh! Duh! Who "do" most children? Family and friends of the family, of course! Duh! Who do I "do"? Family and friends of the family. Double Duh! "All" I had to do was become a family friend.
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