Maci felt the anxiety and frustration race through her body. Mom and dad had promised her a phone at the end of the school year if she got all As and Bs on her report card. Halfway through the first quarter, all was going well, except for Algebra, where she was averaging a C. Math has always been her weakest subject, but this was the first time her grades were consistently below a B.
It certainly wasn’t because of the teacher, Mr. Phil. He was very nice, helpful, funny, and encouraged Maci after every assignment or quiz that she performed poorly on. She laughed to herself that the problem was due to her crush on him, creating a distraction from being able to concentrate on math.
As she sat in class, trying desperately to understand the questions on the paper in front of her, she slouched in her chair, and extended her legs out. She wasn’t aware of it, but doing so caused her skirt to ride up high on her thighs. Her seat was in the middle of the first row, right in front of Mr. Phil.
Maci looked up from her paper to see if she could get his attention and request some help, and noticed his gaze was fixed under her desk. His head was down, as if he was pretending to be looking at the papers in front of him, but she could clearly see that his eyes were looking upward. She glanced down to see what he might be looking at, and that’s when she noticed her skirt. Instead of quickly adjusting her posture, she got an idea.
“If I can’t get an A or B by being good at Algebra,” she thought, “maybe I can earn a better grade another way.”
Maci decided to put her plan of “earning” a good grade into play. Leaving her legs extended, Maci brought her feet together and spread her knees wider. She knew if would expose her red bikini panties, and she slowly looked up from her paper to see Mr. Phil’s reaction. Now his gaze shifted from under Maci’s desk, to her light blue eyes, back under the desk again, and then returning to lock eyes with her.
They both realized what the other was doing, and neither attempted to correct themselves. There was no shame or embarrassment. They were on the same page. Maci twirled a strand of her long blonde hair in her fingers, and they both grinned slightly at the same time. Mr. Phil looked around the room to make sure nobody else was watching, tapped on his watch a few times, and mouthed the words “Hurry up” to Maci.
Maci did her best to answer the questions correctly, but quickly. In what seemed like 45 days instead of 45 minutes, Mr. Phil finally announced “Okay, time’s up, pencils down. Maci, would you please collect everyone’s papers? As Maci collects your paper, you may leave.”
Maci went from desk to desk, keeping her partially completed paper on the bottom, so nobody would notice that many of the questions had gone unanswered. She placed the pile of papers on Mr. Phil’s desk.
“Well Maci,” he asked, “how did you do?”
“Awful,” she replied. Her big blue eyes begged for mercy.
“Hmmm, well, let’s not worry about it for now, and just see how it turns out,” he smiled in return. “Have a good day Maci, and don’t worry about Algebra tonight,” he said as he winked at her.
“That will be very hard,” she answered.
“It could be,” he laughed softly.
That evening at home, Maci’s parents asked her the everyday normal questions they always do about school “How was school?” “Anything exciting happen?” “How are your grades?” and she answered with her everyday normal replies, “It was fine,” “Nothing really,” “I’m good,” – just the typical things a teenager tells her parents when they don’t want their parents to know the whole truth.
Although it annoyed her when her parents always asked a lot of questions about her school activities, Maci knew they were only doing what they knew they were supposed to do as parents by showing interest in her schoolwork. The truth was that their 9 to 5 jobs were very stressful, and they wanted nothing more than for Maci to be able to maintain good grades without their help. However, being the only child didn’t allow for many distractions from whatever she was doing, whatever it was, so she was thankful that they didn’t press her for more information.
Maci had plenty of friends to talk to about school and things normal teenagers are interested in, but she was a lot more mature than they were, so their interests weren’t on the same level in many ways. Maci mostly talked with her parents and their friends and other adults, so the level of conversation was always more “grown up.” On the other hand, she always felt that the things her friends talked about the most were unimportant and juvenile.
Maci was careful to never talk about her specific interest in men with her friends, because they rarely talked about anything sexual, and when they did, it was about the boys their age in school. The thought of hooking up with a boy in school disgusted her because she knew they were only interested in getting themselves off, and it really didn’t matter who it was with.
Maci had always been attracted to older men since she was in grade school, and had no interest in the boys her age. When her friends would laugh and say “Oh gross!” if they caught an older man checking them out, it would make Maci’s day, and she would smile at the man and mouth a “Hi” in return. She yearned to have a secret friend, older, caring, thoughtful, respectful, and craving her young body 24-7 while making sure she always knew it.
Maci kept those thoughts to herself and would scroll through social media dating sites, looking at men that expressed an interest in hooking up with younger women. “Hmm, I wonder how much younger they mean when they say they’re looking for younger,” she would laugh to herself. She would daydream about meeting up with an older guy and being treated like a princess in public, but how he would ravish her in private, making sure she enjoyed it as much as he did. In the bathtub late at night, she would caress herself all over, inserting a finger inside her young, smooth, tight pussy, pretending that the older guy was massaging her little budding tits, her hard nipples, and then sliding his middle-age hard cock inside her.
(to be continued)
