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Julie sat in the warm sunshine, on one of the posts holding the guard rail at the end of the long, narrow cul-de-sac at the edge of the small state nature preserve. It was exactly noon – she was nothing if not punctual.
An occasional grasshopper whirred past, but nothing else moved or made noise. It was amazingly devoid of human influences or presence, this little piece of countryside next to the river, at the edge of town. She had grown up here, knew the entire town intimately, from riverbank through its highest hills. For years she had had what she called her “private river-place”, just a short distance away, down a faint and well-hidden trail that ambled over the steep bluff and down to the riverbank itself. It was a secret, but one which she was about to reveal for the first time.
Her family was seriously over-protective, hyper-conservative, evangelical/religious… but at least, they did value education in some forms. Over the last year or so, she had quietly examined her own religious upbringing and, without fanfare or open rebellion, had declared it nonsense – rejected it completely. In fact, she had finally decided pretty much to hell with her parents’ opinions, feelings or influence. She now felt immune to further religious propagandizing. And she wanted OUT.
College offered her an obvious escape route from the family environment, but that required a bit of planning – plus silence about those plans, plus seeming to still be hewing to her upbringing. Subterfuge. The plans were simple – she would start college locally (at a “faith-based” school, whatever that meant – it would help keep Mom and Dad under control). She was a very good student: she would concentrate and do well in her studies, taking 100% secular classes. Then, ASAP, she would use her academic record to escape to a real university somewhere far away.
The plan was already in gear: at high-school graduation time some weeks ago, she had both turned eighteen and (per the plan) pre-enrolled as a second-semester freshman, which she could do because of her many advanced-placement courses.
Due to the family’s conservatism and religiosity, she of course had no dating experience, essentially having been kept ignorant of the entire process… ignorant, but anxious to begin. In fact, she had just recently decided it was time to take some sort of serious action on the ‘dating/males’ front… although she was not t all sure what that meant!
It would obviously help a lot, she thought, when fall arrived and she would move into the dorm, finally free of minute-by-minute supervision by her folks. Getting the parental permission to move into the dorm (more of the plan!) had taken months of wrangling and cajoling – but she expected it to prove a worthwhile investment of effort.
That decision about male/female interactions (really, about LACK of them!) was why she was sitting here on the post, with her heart going unexpectedly, and unsettlingly, fast. She swung her legs nervously as she watched the brow of the hill over which he should be arriving momentarily. Antsy now, she wondered, why she had set up this meeting? She didn’t have a very clear answer as to what she expected from this event. And, importantly, was this a DATE? She had after all asked HIM out, to come with her to her secret place. Could it be a real date if the girl asked the man instead of the other way round?
Perhaps he wouldn’t come, after all? Maybe he hadn’t really taken her as seriously as it all seemed yesterday?
She studied her feet in their white canvas shoes. Back and forth. Making designs in the dust with her toes. Dust on the canvas. “Puppy feet!” she thought to herself. Her Mother’s term, internalized. God, how she hated her body nowadays… big, huge, ungainly puppy-feet. Ick. Maybe she should get some other color of shoes? One magazine article said that black “minimized size” whatever that meant.
This meeting today was a VERY strange arrangement, really! It had all begun the day before – Friday. At her afternoon soccer practice. The women’s team included players with a considerable range in age and size and experience – in all of which she was right at the very minimum. She was fast and strong, but outweighed and out-muscled by many of her teammates.
Coach was good about balancing participation, however, so she got plenty of action. Every player on the team did: he was very fair. As to actual game-time, well, this summertime daily practice and working out was just prep work – no real intercollegiate games until well into the looming fall semester. They’d just have to see how things went during matches once the season started.
Meanwhile, at the moment, she watched from the sidelines with a lot of the other players. Several of the older, more experienced ones nearby were making comments about Jimmy, the coach – they agreed that he was a VERY interesting man, just old enough to be seriously out of their reach, and just young enough to be extraordinarily attractive to them. And able to keep up with the batch of them on the field – actually, he could and sometimes did run them ragged without seeming to get escort sincan winded himself.
Practice ended, and the rest of the women bounced and giggled their way off the field towards the dressing room, a site off-limits for Jimmy – it was sometimes inconvenient, this having a male coach for the women’s team, but he was a fine coach with a great record… and he handled the potentially-awkward arrangement well, frequently poking fun at himself and the overall situation.
Julie hadn’t felt social, and stayed behind, sitting in the bottom row of seats in the bleachers, while the gaggle cleared. She watched the others flow past, envious of those with real breasts. Boobs that stood out beneath the jerseys, that wobbled and jiggled and capture male attention. Breasts – or the lack thereof – preoccupied her. Jealousy. Embarrassment. Longing. Sometimes she wondered if her own tit-preoccupation wasn’t something akin to that of teenage boys? A weird thought, that.
HOWEVER, she reminded herself often, she had finally, just a couple of months ago, gotten her turn at the explosive growth and development that had long since overtaken most of her girlfriends. Not all, but most. Her puberty, like her Mother’s, had been unconscionably delayed (probably by some interfering minor Hindu deity, she liked to think). She had known, of course, that her turn would arrive in its own good time, bringing tits and hips and suchlike – Mother hadn’t needed a ‘training bra’ until she’d reached twenty-one, and today Mom sported lovely small boobs… attractive even after nursing three kids. So at least she and Mother could commiserate a little on THAT topic. But Mom wasn’t here at the moment to console her. Thank heavens for THAT!
The parade began to slow – it seemed specifically designed to make her miserable. Tits! Boobs! Yeah, and hips and butts and boyfriends. She was, frankly, miserably unhappy with her own body. Hence watching the flow of ‘bodies on display’ didn’t help one little bit.
Especially she disliked her body now that it had begun to betray her all of a sudden – just as she’d gotten some real control over it through gymnastics and soccer and running, BLOOEY, she had gained nearly five inches in well under a year. Now she was achingly aware of having those awful puppy-feet, a term Mother had accidentally dropped into a conversation and which had stuck in Julie’s mind.
It epitomized what was happening to her. Big feet, yes, but there were no accompanying developments of the kind she was so anxious for. She knew they would happen eventually, but nevertheless the long delay was so DAMNED UNFAIR! She sat there, gently simmering in her own private foul mood.
Then, suddenly, Jimmy had appeared in front of her, sweaty, carrying the big net bag of soccer balls. He squatted down, looked at her eye-to-eye:
“You had a good day, today, Julie! On the field at least. Why so glum!?”
She looked at him, then looked away, suddenly embarrassed. It was one thing to be coached on-field by this attractive man, but something completely different being up this close and personal. He waited – he was always patient.
Finally, somehow, she blurted out “I’m just…” She paused, looked at him, finished in a rush that surprised her. “I’m so ugly compared to all the others! Nobody thinks I’m pretty. It shouldn’t matter, but it does! I hate the way I look! I’m just some sort of human string-bean. And it’s just getting worse!”
She turned her face away, embarrassed at herself. Not just embarrassed, more like appalled! What in the world was going on in her head? She sounded just like a whiney, bratty little six-year-old trying hard for attention. God DAMMIT! – how could her brain let such a thing get out?
Jimmy reached one hand out, cupped her chin in his fingertips. He’d never touched her before, not at all, not for any reason. As a man coaching a flock of attractive, and obviously horny, young women, many of them underage, he had to be particularly careful about such stuff – in fact, he had even led occasional discussions about it. His first such talk, during introductions on day one, had impressed all the players- some of the older ones had tee-heed (later) and said how very much “too bad” the ‘no-touch-ever’ rule was.
Julie had surprised herself – at his touch her belly had twisted a little, and she could feel her pulse pick up. The touch was delicate, considerate, and unexpectedly sensual. His fingertips held her as if she were some sort of precious, fragile object. On the underside of her jaw she could feel the heat of his palm.
He gently turned her face towards his, and said “Baloney! You, Julie, are a very pretty young woman, and right now you are maturing into an even prettier version. Remember, I met your older sisters and your mother at the social mixer, and it’s obvious that you are going to be a VERY attractive woman. Period. Believe me, I do know what I’m talking about. I really do LIKE the females of my species. A lot!”
He grinned broadly at her, warmly, and kept on: “About your looks, madam, my opinion counts, and yours doesn’t, because no woman can ankara escort ever be objective about herself! It’s a law of nature.”
He paused, grinned again and said “Same as boys being perpetually horny! That’s another of Mother Nature’s laws. There are, by the way, a lot of young men hereabouts who DO notice you and who clearly do NOT find anything negative about your physique. Being male myself, I can see those boys’ behavior – but you probably cannot. All is actually in good order in the universe. Quit worrying! Orders from your coach. Okay?”
She smiled at that. He said “That’s better!” He released her chin, squeezed her bare, sweaty shoulder just once. It sent tingles through her, and that embarrassed her again. She wasn’t doing too well, was she?
Then, unexpectedly, it was “So, what’s your weekend going to be like? Got lots of plans with the other players or your student buddies? Going out on a date with a boyfriend, maybe?” He sounded concerned, somehow – not just making conversational noises. She glanced away, studied the soccer goal, then after a moment or two, she looked right at him: he WAS being serious, interested, and paying attention. That was nice, sort of calming, and it encouraged her to reply seriously.
She shook her head. “Nope. I don’t run around much with the others. And I don’t have a boyfriend. I will someday, I suppose, but Mom says I’m too young now and besides, most of the guys my age whom I know are, frankly, not very interesting. Pretty awful. Icky, as a matter of fact.”
“So I usually take Saturday afternoons all for myself. I like to go to my secret place down by the river, and spend the whole afternoon there, until dinnertime. Sometimes I don’t even get home in time for dinner, and that makes my parents grumpy, but pretty soon I’ll be in the dorms and THAT will go away! On weekends I read, or just sit and think. I guess I daydream a lot. Make up stories in my head. Maybe I should become a writer. Anyhow, I don’t like most group things. Except for sports, you know. Soccer especially.”
Then she surprised herself again and asked “What are YOU doing on the weekend? Do you coach other teams or something? Or…” She grinned and blushed momentarily at her own boldness. Was she flirting with this man? She’d had to date exactly NO real experience at such doings… it certainly wasn’t her normal mode! How could it be, since she’d never been on a real date? “… or maybe YOU are going out and having fun with your GIRLFRIEND? You don’t have a wedding ring on…” She flushed again at that. It sounded so totally out of line! She hadn’t meant anything by it. Maybe she should apologize?
He laughed, shook his head. “No. No other teams, you ladies are plenty for me. And I don’t have a girlfriend right now. Haven’t for some time. I’m pretty busy teaching and coaching. But I might take some time to go for a walk in the country tomorrow, or for a run to get some serious exercise. Away from the team. I’m sort of a closet loner myself, like you, I guess.”
She looked at him, slightly sideways. “You really think I’m pretty?” Fishing, fishing, flirt, flirt? What was WITH her, today?
He nodded, with quite a serious expression on his face.
She said nothing for a moment, then finally muttered “Thank you!”
He patted her on the knee, just once, and said “Yes, I do. I’ll tell you again any time you need some reassurance. Now I think I’d better go and lock up.”
It felt as if there were a branding-iron imprint of his palm and fingers on her knee. Tingling.
He stood, hefted the ball-bag, started to turn.
With a whoosh, something inside her took over control. “Jimmy, if you like to walk in the country and if you really don’t have anything else to do, I could show you my special place. It’s right on the riverbank and it’s secret and it’s really close by. It’s pretty down there. And quiet. Private.”
Good grief, part of her mind thought… “Are you, Julie, asking this MAN out? You’ve never been on a date, yet! What are you thinking? You must be nutso, girl!” The rest of her brain shushed the dissident part. Quite effectively, too.
Jimmy stood there and looked at her speculatively, and said nothing. The silence unnerved her a little. She was out of line for sure. He would probably think she was being a silly, stupid kid. Damn!
Finally she muttered, just barely audibly, “If you REALLY don’t have anything else to do, that is… I mean, it would be nice. I’ve never shown anyone the place. You can watch the river and there are no people out THERE – I did once see a motorboat but it stayed away from shore. Nobody has ever come along when I was there. I don’t think anyone else knows about the place…”
Her voice trailed off. What was she doing, what, what, WHAT!??
He thought for several seconds, then abruptly smiled at her. Her heart leapt into her throat – he was going to ACCEPT! A genuine OMIGAWD moment!
“Sure! I’d like that very much. What time and where shall we meet?”
They settled on noon. She told him how to find the little access-street, and he was surprised.
“That’s only a few blocks etimesgut escort bayan from my house. It’ll be easy for me to find. It has to be what you say, namely a secret spot, because I don’t have a clue it about it. That’s very nice of you. Noon!”
He started off again, then looked back over his shoulder and said “I’ll bring some lunch, so don’t you eat beforehand!”
He trotted off, leaving her sitting there completely baffled by her own actions and wondering what she was getting herself into. And her stomach was churning in a most interesting way.
Next day – Saturday morning. After a VERY difficult night for Julie. The most amazing things had floated unbidden through her mind as she tried to get to sleep. Her insides were really in a whirl, and there was nothing she could do about it. Now it wasn’t just her body out of control, but her BRAIN, too! That was MOST unusual for her! And completely disconcerting.
Then, after an early breakfast, it was back to the privacy of her room. She could spend tens of minutes staring motionless at her face in the mirror, seeking incipient flaws where there really were none. As usual, she found herself not the least bit attractive, Jimmy’s much-appreciated and scarcely-to-be-believed opinion notwithstanding. Long ago she had pounded a little nail into the wall above the big mirror and she kept a huge old beach-towel on it, covering the mirror. Now she flipped the towel free and dropped it on the floor beside her. Would noon ever get here, she wondered? Then she shifted her attention to the mirror.
There she was, reflected in all her glorious imperfections. Many many many of them. It was impossible! She examined herself. GOD how she hated what she had become, this unshaped string-bean person, and knowing it was an intermediate stage didn’t help a bit. She was really quite mistaken about her shape, being long past string-bean-ness. Nonetheless, she put her fingertips on her hip-bones, and tried to judge – was she beginning to get a little width there, or not? And boobs? Not much of a chance… maybe a quadruple-A cup? But she did have to admit that things were changing on her chest – maybe a quarter-cup volume of boob, or pre-boob, where before there had been a sheet of thin cardboard with ribs showing?
That was the ticket, the measuring-gauge, she realized – she could no longer see her ribs for the little pads of boob that were FINALLY beginning to appear beneath her paired pink-dot areolas. In fact, if she squeezed, there was quite definitely more flesh beneath her suddenly unruly and amazingly sensitive nipples than there had been a few weeks before. Changes! Her formerly quiescent nipples had been tiny half-BBs, and the only thing they responded to -other than her clandestine self-touchings- was cold. Now, in the last three or four months since she had started having those god-awful periods, they had changed. Even if her actual hypothetical tits were pretty much refusing to get on about their proper business of growing, her nipples were doing so, and now they responded to EVERYTHING! More body-out-of-control.
Nipples! The inside of a blouse brushing them could yield a delightful sort of agony, but nothing to compare with the near-terminal embarrassment of having the damned things stand up and show through her shirt right when she least wanted it. Hiding that might be the only reason for her to wear a “bra” (for her at present it would be more like band-aids on a string!) – she positively HATED the idea of those phony-bra under-things.
But real band-aids were her salvation – they worked wonders in hiding things. Daily now, she carefully put one, sometimes two, crossed, over each nipple before going to school. It helped. Especially when she had to stand before the class. They changed her now-sharp points into almost-unobtrusive tapered little swellings, and she could just barely handle that. She was puzzled indeed at how some of the more developed girls seemed to actually TRY to show off their version of her problem children. It was very odd.
She studied her crotch. A fine dusting of nearly transparent blond fuzz was beginning to show, finally, blurring the outline of her outer lips a little bit, but hiding nothing whatever. In gym classes, she was one of the few who still had so little hair – most of the others proudly patted and fluffed their growths, almost as if to taunt the slow-developers.
She covered her mound with her hand, let the hairs tickle her palm. Her pussy. Where did THAT word come from, anyhow? Pussy was such a difficult term, yet that’s what all her girlfriends, even her older sister, called their crotches. What, exactly, constituted “The Pussy”? She couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t just the lips, or even the vagina tucked away, deep inside and behind them, although her sister and friends talked about putting things INTO their pussies, so their concept included depth or volume. It wasn’t just the hair, either, for people talked about pussies having more hair, or less hair, or being shaved (!!) and therefore a pussy was something that HAD hair, but was not the hair itself. And it probably wasn’t the mound carrying her little crop, because her friends talked about how they sometimes had wet pussies, and that part didn’t get wet of its own volition. Although other parts certainly did. And often when she least wanted it.
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