As Close to Perfection as Possible

Three years into my undergraduate work, it became clear that the work study jobs I had procured would no longer pay the bills. I had moved off campus and needed to pay rent, utilities, and all the other bills that come with the initial forays into independent living. I attended a small liberal arts college in the Midwest, so it was unsurprising that a secretary in the school's admissions office had heard I was in search of a part time job. She encouraged me to take the short walk to the fraternal lodge that was adjacent to the college's campus, for she knew they were looking for a bartender and someone who would, from time to time, be willing to help with basic groundskeeping on the lodge's nine-hole golf course.

Three days later I was gainfully employed. I served as a bartender for the weekly Beer and Burger night, and on Friday and Saturday evenings, I bartended for the wedding receptions, birthday parties, and other gatherings that were held at the lodge.

About one month into my new gig, I was cleaning up the bar area after a fairly tame birthday party that had wrapped up earlier than expected. The heat in the lodge had been set far too high, so while I was cleaning, I shed my long sleeve button up shirt and wore a tight white tank top undershirt and black Levi jeans. It was perhaps 10:30 when I heard the beep that indicated someone had entered the lodge through the kitchen entry. It was not uncommon for lodge members to use the rear door, but I had been coached to discover who had entered, so I hustled off to the back room. I pushed my way through the swinging door and was greeted with a vision of feminine perfection wearing a high school cheerleading uniform.

"You must be Matt," she said and boldly walked toward me. "I'm Anne. My mom told me that you would be here, so I wanted to stop by and say hello."

I soon learned that Anne's parents were folks who frequented the lodge's social gatherings; in fact, when we anticipated an especially big crowd, her father would help me behind the bar. I had heard of Anne and had caught wind of her exceptional beauty, but I could not have imagined the reality that stood before me. She was a senior in high school, and her cheerleading outfit left little to the imagination. The scarcity of clothing struck me as odd; winter weather had landed on the region days before, and I knew there was no way she had worn that getup during the game that had recently concluded. I was still a naïve young man, but I was not an idiot; the outfit was for me. As soon as that fact registered in my mind, I turned my full attention to the appreciation of her magnificence. Apart from her ample and gravity defying breasts, she had a gymnast's body—petite, strong, and lithe. Her auburn hair was thick and long, and it framed her farmer's daughter face perfectly. I was awestruck.

"I've been hearing quite a lot about you, Matt," she explained. "My mom has not stopped urging me to get over here. My dad, however, prefers that I stay away."

"Well, it is nice to meet you," I stammered. "I don't think your dad has any reason for concern. I'm pretty harmless."

"Hey, I've got a party to get to," Anne said. "But before I go, if you don't mind," and she wrapped her soft, manicured hands around my bulging deltoids. She lightly massaged my shoulders then ran her hands down to my biceps, giving them a series of tight squeezes. Her hands migrated to my abdominals, and she traced the backs of her fingers up and down my core. I admit that I was flooded with conflicting emotions. She was easily the most beautiful girl to have expressed an interest in me, but she was in high school. I took no steps to halt her aggressive flirtation but resolved it would go no further than her touching me a bit. Her final move was to shift her attention to my chest. She kneaded my pecs and gently slipped her index fingers under my tank top. She brushed them across my nipples, and when I looked up, her blue doe eyes were locked on mine. I am not sure if it was the brief nipple play or her hypnotic gaze, but my cock began to throb and press uncomfortably against my Levi's.

I had gone sans underwear that evening, and I did not want to stand before her with a giant tent in my pants, so I reached and did a quick readjustment, but it proved to be poorly executed, for my now rock hard member was sticking out of the top of my jeans. Thankfully, it was still veiled by my undershirt, but Anne noticed my uncomfortable state. She glanced down and my eyes followed. It seemed like an eternity, but I eventually raised my gaze, and there were those eyes again.

"Well, well," she quipped, and then she pulled off the sexiest lip bite I have—to this day—ever seen.

I was still reeling from the image of her flushed plump lips when I felt pressure on the head of my cock. She squeezed the last three inches of my dick in a tight grip and began pulsing her fist. Tight, loose, tight, loose, tight, loose—and then the pressure was gone, and she was walking toward a kitchen counter.

She retrieved a long, heavy parka. "I have to run. My boyfriend is certainly wondering where I am. I should have met him at the party already. Wow! Tonight is off to a great start. It was fun meeting you, Matt."

She slipped herself into the heavy jacket, and as she walked out the door, she turned, and said, "Don't worry, babe. I turned eighteen last month. It can't be tonight, but you and I are going to have a lot of fun with each other. By the way, you've got a great dick." She floated out the door and was gone.

Over the next few months, Anne would show up at the lodge from time to time, but it was always when her parents were seated at the bar. She would swoop into the bar area, and the air would immediately become charged with a sexual electricity that only I seemed to sense. She always donned incredibly tight t-shirts, which I secretly hoped were worn for my benefit. She would steal quick glances at me, and I could tell she was trying to maintain an air of aloofness. Then, she would steal away as quickly as she appeared.

Our next sexually charged encounter occurred in an unlikely and, frankly, uncomfortable location. One of the college courses in which I was enrolled compelled me to work with an English teacher at the local high school. I had to amass a certain number of observation hours to earn credit for a required portion of the undergraduate class. The English teacher with whom I was paired asked me to come to his last class period, which was a senior English honors class. Yes, running into Anne was a thought that occurred to me, but I hoped it would not come to fruition. I did not want to subject myself to what I guessed would prove to Anne a ripe opportunity to tease me publicly.

I arrived in the classroom a few minutes before the class was set to begin, and the instructor asked me to sit at his desk, which was positioned at the front of the room. I got my notebook and required paperwork arranged and had two pens ready to go. The instructor informed me that the students were finishing the final act of Ibsen's A Doll's House, and he gave me a copy of his lesson plans and a copy of the play; then, I heard students shuffling into the room, chatting about a variety of things.

Just as the late bell began to sound, Anne strutted into the room, and she elegantly seated herself in the vacant seat immediately in front of me. She wore a light blue denim jean skirt, which unquestionably violated the school's dress code, and she donned what I now know was a bodysuit. The bodysuit was lacy and white, and it hugged her body.

Anne did not carry a single pound of extra weight; her body was athletic and awe-inspiring. Her v-shaped torso and perfectly developed glutes were accompanied by deliciously defined thighs and calves. My goodness—I thought—this girl must workout like a madwoman.

I glanced in Anne's direction, but her eyes were fixed on a handout that had been placed before her. The English teacher broke my dreamlike state when he asked me to disperse copies of the play, which he labeled a tragicomedy. Thankful that my brain had not yet sent blood rushing to my crotch, I handed out the texts and repositioned myself in front of Anne.

The teacher assigned roles for students to read, and in short order, we were reading the final act. After the protagonist's husband uttered a humorous line, I chuckled and allowed my eyes to wander from the page. There she was again, staring. Her fascinating eyes compelled me not to break from her gaze, but she slipped from her seat and walked to the back of room.

As her peers read or listened to Ibsen's words, she plucked a tissue from a box at the back of the room, paused, and briefly hiked up the hem of her jean skirt. The bottom half inch of her glorious glutes peeked out, apparently free from any undergarment. She turned and walked toward a small trash can near the doorway. With her classmates' backs to her and her teacher reading from the page, she bent at the waist and lingered for three of four seconds. Her defined ass was on full display, and I now saw that the thong bodysuit she wore was nestled tightly between her glorious cheeks.

As she turned and walked back to her desk, I thought of a comment one of my football teammates had once uttered. He had said, "You can bounce a quarter off that girl's ass; that's how tight her body is."

I had laughed at his comment, knowing it was simple hyperbole, but now I had to call that notion into question, for Anne's ass looked so finely sculpted that I was certain I would be able to pull off the feat with her as my accomplice.

I coaxed my thoughts back to the task at hand and noted that the students were on the second to the last page of the narrative. I was hopeful the next portion of the lesson would allow me to get up and move around the room, for I was having a tough time quelling my mounting desire. A quiet cough sounded in front of me, so I shot my eyes at Anne. Once again, I was greeted with that lip bite, and her eyes flashed downward, clearly encouraging me to relocate my gaze. When she had reseated herself, she had, once again, hiked up the miniskirt, and as I allowed my eyes to refocus on the darkness between her thighs, she slowly parted them for me.

Who knows where this tortuous game might have gone; frankly, I was glad we were stopped. Anne's teacher was moving to the next activity, which required students to get out of their desks. The teacher would pose a question, and the students had to pair-up and discuss the answers. Then, he would ask another question, and the students had to find a new partner. They were getting ready to begin the third question when the instructor asked me to get involved in the rotation activity.

Anne made certain we were partnered. We were asked to explore a few revolutionary aspects of the play, and I offered a few that I thought might pique her interest and prove my intellect.

Anne did not offer an answer to the question; instead, she said to me, "When this activity is over, I will go back to my desk. You stay at the back of the room until I'm seated. When you walk back to your seat, walk down this row," she motioned, "and turn to the side as you pass me. Brush your cock against my hand. I'll have my hand in a good spot."

She saw the hesitation in my eyes. "Just do it. I want you to see why I wore this outfit."

So, she knew that I would be there that day. She was beautifully crafty.

Looking back on my subsequent decision, I realize the stupidity and the inappropriateness of it, but I obliged. I carried out her orders exactly as she specified. I made it back to my assigned seat and noted that my behavior had gone unnoticed by anyone but Anne. I followed her instructions and looked at her.

(Sidenote: I am now a middle-aged man, and I have had the pleasure to sleep with many phenomenally beautiful women, but I have never encountered any woman who had tits like Anne's.)

The English teacher had repositioned himself in the back of the classroom and was calling students one at a time to conference with him and discuss the status of an essay, which was due soon.

Anne took advantage of the moment and scribbled something on a sheet of notebook paper. She held it in front of her; it read: "This is what you do to me." She moved the paper, and I was greeted by sight that still causes my blood to boil. Anne's nipples stood at full attention. I had not noticed earlier, but it was now apparent that she wore no bra. I marveled at the site. My goodness! Her c-cup tits, without the assistance of a bra, were firmly set. I swear that her eraser sized nipples were pointing slightly upward.

Just as our eyes reconnected, the bell rang. She gave me one final luxurious lip bite and a wink and scooted out of my afternoon.

It was not until Anne graduated from high school and began taking summer school classes at the local community college that we would find ourselves in a situation that would allow us to satiate our desires. Life had grown busy. I was working a second part time job at a sporting goods store but still picked up as many shifts as I could at the lodge. She was working, too, and rarely had time to stop by the bar. I thought often about her ridiculously sexy body, her willingness to embrace her naughtiness, and her unmatched ability to engorge my dick.

I confess that I had stroked myself to completion upwards of one hundred times fueled by images of her brilliant tits and wonderings of what it would feel like to slip myself into her tightness. She was my go-to fantasy when I needed a release, but I longed to fulfill the fantasy and craved the feeling of her tanned naked skin against my own. I lustfully longed to taste her sweet wetness, to watch her bounce up and down on my thick shaft, to hear the sounds that would slip from her lips when I brought her to orgasm after orgasm.

And then, during the evening of a summer night, the phone rang. It was Anne. She was in her parent's basement. She was alone in the home for the weekend. The side door was unlocked. She would be waiting for me.

I quickly showered, dressed, and drove the three blocks. I slipped into the house and hustled down the stairs. Her jaw dropping perfection shook me for an instant, and I could not muster the ability to say a single word. She wore skintight jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I was more keenly observant this time and delighted to see that she again wore not bra, and those sensational tits were already standing at attention, waiting for me to slip them between my lips and to feel the swirl of my tongue.

"Well, are we finally going to make this happen?" she asked.

Anne leaned against a basement wall. Her hands were tucked behind her. I approached and gently ran my hand through her hair. The smell of vanilla flooded my head; the silkiness of her hair encouraged my fingers. I tilted her head to the side just a bit and pressed my eager lips against her neck. My tongue felt her quickened pulse, and although I could not have imagined they could become more engorged, Anne's nipples pressed into my chest. I had to push myself away for an instant to revel in the perfection of her physique.

On the short drive to her home, I had cemented myself; I would take things slowly, but the sight of her gravity defying breasts and inflamed nipples overwhelmed my good intentions. I grabbed the t-shirt and yanked one side above her breast. As quickly as I could, I sank my mouth to the objects that had fueled my passions for so long. I sucked on her nipple; I swirled my tongue around her entire breast. I flicked it against the rock-hard nipple; then, I switched to the other side and continued to try and make up for, in one night, what I had craved.

Anne's hands remained behind her back. When I gently bit down onto her ripe nipple, I finally heard her respond with a moan of pleasure. Although I could have spent an hour exploring every inch of her perfect tits, I did not want her to grow bored with me, so I passionately embraced the other side of her neck and nibbled on her ear.

Again, she moaned a sound of approval, and I moved to her plump lips. When my lips met hers and her tongue darted into my mouth, I nearly collapsed onto the basement floor. I had heard of people swooning, but I never imagined it would be something I might experience.

Holy hell! She smelled of vanilla and tasted like strawberry. It was dream like. Our passionate embrace grew increasingly animalistic as Anne gently bit my lower lip and shot her tongue into my desirous mouth. Her hands escaped their confines and grabbed the back of my head, stroking my hair and guiding my lustful kisses.

I moved my right leg and planted my knee just under her crotch. I had envisioned what might occur, but the reality proved master to my creative thoughts. Anne immediately began rocking on my knee and lower thigh. She knew exactly what I wanted from her, and she gave it willingly.

Her kisses became increasingly impassioned, and the rocking became a grinding. I began to feel in her the heat that our passion birthed. I could feel the heat and wetness created by the grinding. I could hear Anne's breath grow heavy, and her gasps for air quickened. I was feeling greedy and did not want her to come too soon, so before she reached her climax, I pulled my leg away and grabbed her hand. I guided her hand to my thick cock, and she began stroking me on the outside of my jeans. I moaned in approval and swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped her pants.

She stopped my hand from slipping under her white panties, and said, "Not quite yet. Let's focus on you for a while."

She proceeded to unbutton my jeans, and as she tugged them down to my thighs, my cock sprang free. She lowered herself and, taking the base of my cock in her hand, she engulfed the first six inches. She was not playing around; she sucked my cock like her life depended on it, and I realized that all of the lust, all of the passion, all of the desire we had directed at one another was going to be revealed in the next few minutes.

This was not going to take all night. We were too inflamed, too lustful, too ready to feel ourselves explode. She swirled her tongue around the head of my dick and licked her way down to my heavy balls. She gently sucked them into her mouth, and the feeling of her sucking on them nearly sent me over the edge. She must have felt that I was close, for she moved away from my nuts and moved back to my shaft. She let go of my cock and tried her best to take my full length into her throat. Honestly, I had never had a girl try to do this, and the feeling was different and glorious. She tried her best, but six inches was all that she could handle. She let out a little moan of disapproval and stood back up to look me in the eye.

"Sorry! I wanted to fit the whole thing. Guess I'm not ready for that yet."

"Let me focus on you now," I insisted.

She leaned back against the wall, peeled her jeans over her muscular ass, and dropped them to her ankles. I stooped, helped her step from the jeans, and took the chance to gaze upward at the object of so many of my fantasies. She was soaking wet; in fact, her wetness was running down the inside of one thigh.

I needed to feel her; I needed it immediately. I stood and grabbed her leg with my left hand. I lifted her leg, and with my right hand, I pushed her panties to the side and inserted a finger into her perfect pussy.

Before I made it far into her, her pleasure overcame her, and she commanded, "Make me cum. Finger fuck me; then, rub my clit. Come on; do it; do it now."

Always the good soldier, I followed orders. I plunged my finger in and out of her wetness and felt her gush onto the palm of my hand. I had never felt a girl get this wet, and it excited me to a level I did not know was possible.

Just when I was thinking of slipping a second finger inside of her, she moaned, "Now! Rub that clit now!"