Young curly brunette
Young curly brunette amateur takes off her sexy underwear
Paule meets Jenny but has to overcome a few obstacles first.
I was in my last year at school and the rest of my life was stretching out before me a featureless landscape and me without a map. The boarding school I attended was all boys so interaction with the opposite sex was restricted and girls remained a mystery to most of us. Not that this stopped us from endlessly discussing girls and their anatomy. Like most teenage boys my pals and I were obsessed with the subject.
My own experience was limited although in my view at that time glorious. A couple of weeks on student educational cruise had provided me with several opportunities for some serious groping and I had even scored once with a skinny blonde girl behind a lifeboat on a windless night off the coast of Turkey. This hadn t been my first experience that had been after a school drama production performed jointly with the local girl s school the summer before. My introduction to sex hadn t been entirely satisfactory as I had come within about thirty seconds and the female participant had been less than impressed - it was far from her first time!
So it was that this rampant bunch of perambulating hormones that I called friends met together every Wednesday after Rugby Training to nurse our bruises and talk about girls. As members of the school First XV we enjoyed certain privileges such as being allowed to walk out on Wednesday evenings as well as Saturdays. This meant we could leave the wooded cloisters of the school and head into the local town which wasn t much to write home about but at least had a semblance of civilisation.
We all used to gather in the town s single coffee bar picturesquely named the Cresta Run and it was here over endless cups of cappuccino that we discussed that subject closest to our hearts and gonads. Sometimes we were fortunate enough to be vouchsafed a glimpse of a real girl or two as the coffee bar was open to all but most of the town girls avoided the place probably because of our presence - they deemed us school boys and preferred the company of the more liberated local swains. With what was then the typical English Boarding School mentality the older pupils of the Girls School were not allowed into town on the same days as us. They could walk out on Wednesday afternoons and Sundays so there was little contact between us all that was not heavily controlled and tightly chaperoned.
This particular Wednesday I had had to miss Rugby Training owing to a slight injury picked up in a match the previous week-end and thus it was more out of boredom than anything else that I went into town early intending to buy a few things I needed in the local shops before joining the rest of the lads in the Cresta Run. It was a typical November evening not yet 5:30 but dark already and rain falling from a grim and troubled English sky. I shouldered my way into the shop out of the weather and promptly collided with someone. The someone gave a small Oooffff!!! and I looked down into the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They were a really dark blue almost navy blue and from that moment I was lost. Sorry I mumbled but the connection between my brain and my tongue seemed to have gone missing. I just stood there holding eye contact and staring for what seemed like an age. The owner of the eyes stared back. Well aren t you going to move then? she said. She was gorgeous! I could tell straight away that she was a senior from the Girls School. She was wearing their horribly unflattering grey raincoat that always appeared several sizes too big but on her it looked like a Chanel gown. She had shoulder length dark brown hair that had a touch of curl and pale pale skin with a hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. I felt myself blush scarlet. [»]
