could reach my pussy.
He’d have to split my legs so wide just to get inside me, I’d be pinned in
place and open for him.
To my horror my whole body flooded with arousal at the
thought of being helpless under Simon, and I felt my cool facade rapidly
slipping away as lust and alarm spread through me in pretty equal measures.
Simon had been my nemesis all through high school.
Good-looking and competent, he was every teacher’s darling in the classroom and
every coach’s dream on the field. And he did it all with a sickening lack of
effort. I had done well in school, always coming in the top three of my year,
but I’d had to work my butt off to do it. And for all the hours of studying,
the extra time spent on projects and research and the late nights slogging over
my assignments, I’d never managed to do better than him. He’d always been
one-up on me, congratulating me and commiserating with me in that voice,
while I seethed with frustration. Although he always sounded so polite I could
sense him mocking me, patronizing me, relishing our ongoing competition that he
always won. By the end of high school I could hardly look at him without
flushing with anger and my pulse racing, and speaking to him was almost
impossible. I used to avoid him, but also spy on him all the time, watching him
obsessively, until my friends thought I was crushing on him. The truth was that
I couldn’t bear him.
Toward the end of the twelfth grade I had begun to have
fantasies about him. The theme was always the same. In my dreams he would fall
in love with me. He would beg me to accept him, his feelings for me. He would
bring me gifts and speak to me in his beautiful voice, telling me how he would
love me forever, how he would look after me, give me everything that I could
desire. I would dismiss him, coolly, with the same slight edge of mockery that
he dealt me so often, and relish being the one thing that he couldn’t have, the
one that he couldn’t win over. But sometimes, in my darkest imaginings, that
voice would weave around me, whispering things that made me hot, made me twist
in my sheets at night and cry out into my pillow. After those dreams I used to
fear seeing him at school, as if I thought he’d know.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, more to my partner Justin than to
Simon. Flustered by the crazy responses of my body, which were totally
disconnected from my brain, and the sense of déjà vu at encountering him right
here in the old school hall, I needed to step outside for a minute to get over
the shock of him actually being here.
I was vaguely aware of Justin’s nod and sharp glance in my
direction as he examined Simon with interest, and I darted out the nearest
door.
It wasn’t an outside door but one that led to a corridor
inside the school block. I wandered down the corridor for a few minutes, hardly
noticing the darkened classrooms, breathing deeply and telling myself to get a
grip. Sure, he was super-hot but he had ruined my life in high school, so what
the hell was I doing, thinking about being sexually dominated by him? It was so not me to even be thinking like that. I didn’t waste time thinking about
sex, and I most certainly didn’t do sex!
After a few casual boyfriends and one dismal sexual
experience in a failed relationship at university, I had abandoned all thoughts
of boyfriends and relationships and had thrown myself into my studies, finally
achieving those first places that had been denied to me in school. That had led
to an equally demanding job in marketing, where I worked even harder. I now
enjoyed a level of success that was unheard of for someone my age, but had no
time for sex, which I thought of, vaguely, as something that would come after I
made my career, found Mr. Right and settled down to start a family. For God’s
sake, my idea of erotic bedtime reading was Business & Finance Weekly !
But for some reason, never a day went by that I didn’t think of Simon in some
way, or turn for a second
He’d have to split my legs so wide just to get inside me, I’d be pinned in
place and open for him.
To my horror my whole body flooded with arousal at the
thought of being helpless under Simon, and I felt my cool facade rapidly
slipping away as lust and alarm spread through me in pretty equal measures.
Simon had been my nemesis all through high school.
Good-looking and competent, he was every teacher’s darling in the classroom and
every coach’s dream on the field. And he did it all with a sickening lack of
effort. I had done well in school, always coming in the top three of my year,
but I’d had to work my butt off to do it. And for all the hours of studying,
the extra time spent on projects and research and the late nights slogging over
my assignments, I’d never managed to do better than him. He’d always been
one-up on me, congratulating me and commiserating with me in that voice,
while I seethed with frustration. Although he always sounded so polite I could
sense him mocking me, patronizing me, relishing our ongoing competition that he
always won. By the end of high school I could hardly look at him without
flushing with anger and my pulse racing, and speaking to him was almost
impossible. I used to avoid him, but also spy on him all the time, watching him
obsessively, until my friends thought I was crushing on him. The truth was that
I couldn’t bear him.
Toward the end of the twelfth grade I had begun to have
fantasies about him. The theme was always the same. In my dreams he would fall
in love with me. He would beg me to accept him, his feelings for me. He would
bring me gifts and speak to me in his beautiful voice, telling me how he would
love me forever, how he would look after me, give me everything that I could
desire. I would dismiss him, coolly, with the same slight edge of mockery that
he dealt me so often, and relish being the one thing that he couldn’t have, the
one that he couldn’t win over. But sometimes, in my darkest imaginings, that
voice would weave around me, whispering things that made me hot, made me twist
in my sheets at night and cry out into my pillow. After those dreams I used to
fear seeing him at school, as if I thought he’d know.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, more to my partner Justin than to
Simon. Flustered by the crazy responses of my body, which were totally
disconnected from my brain, and the sense of déjà vu at encountering him right
here in the old school hall, I needed to step outside for a minute to get over
the shock of him actually being here.
I was vaguely aware of Justin’s nod and sharp glance in my
direction as he examined Simon with interest, and I darted out the nearest
door.
It wasn’t an outside door but one that led to a corridor
inside the school block. I wandered down the corridor for a few minutes, hardly
noticing the darkened classrooms, breathing deeply and telling myself to get a
grip. Sure, he was super-hot but he had ruined my life in high school, so what
the hell was I doing, thinking about being sexually dominated by him? It was so not me to even be thinking like that. I didn’t waste time thinking about
sex, and I most certainly didn’t do sex!
After a few casual boyfriends and one dismal sexual
experience in a failed relationship at university, I had abandoned all thoughts
of boyfriends and relationships and had thrown myself into my studies, finally
achieving those first places that had been denied to me in school. That had led
to an equally demanding job in marketing, where I worked even harder. I now
enjoyed a level of success that was unheard of for someone my age, but had no
time for sex, which I thought of, vaguely, as something that would come after I
made my career, found Mr. Right and settled down to start a family. For God’s
sake, my idea of erotic bedtime reading was Business & Finance Weekly !
But for some reason, never a day went by that I didn’t think of Simon in some
way, or turn for a second
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