Sherry : How I learned to do it my snatch by Phillisroger

My name is Sherry. I am a middling young woman and shy. I have a confession. I was also embarrassed by my puss. I knew from my parents that it was somehow a"dirty"thing to have and very private. They even called it"my privates."My girlfriends wouldn't even say the word out loud…only mentioning it in rustle. So I was very shy about it all what with walking around knowing that I had a snatch ! At least it was hidden under my dress and panties. It may seem strange but as soon as I started to grow up I learned sex was filthy and it all centered on having a puss. Something I shouldn't display or touching and certainly not let anyone else see or touch. It was all embarrassing and made me shy. But my shyness must accept been what attracted my teacher to take a special involvement in me ! I wasn't much of a educatee and this played into his hands…did I write"manpower ?"and those digit on his paw. I have never had such fun in schoolhouse and after school. This is the story of how I learned to love my cunt.

Mr. Emerson was our English teacher and we were studying poetry…studying anything was hard for me, but verse ? That was extra hard. It was a time when scads of matter were hard and confusing…there were my parents, my Quaker, my subject and… ( whisper ) …boys and lots of them…boys made us girls giggle and titter and mess of susurration about gamey things like sex and fucking. We couldn't say that Word of God out loud of course. Another such tidings was slit. We could say most anything else but those two quarrel made us blush. We could even talk about boys'member but when it came to fucking and pussy those were"whisper wrangle"and very personal.

So I did find out things in schoolhouse but there was so practically to get wind that was not in school…the relief of the existence ( and boys ! ). But, as I wrote, we were just then working on poesy and it was hard for me…I was desperate for a good grade so I could graduate and a bad ground level in English language wouldn't help. In my mind I would do anything for a good English grade. It helped…I didn't know it at the time…that my teacher was goodness looking. He wasn't all that young but immature enough that all us young woman had fantasies or infatuation on him and at luncheon we would giggle about what might happen…if…well, you know, if our phantasy were ever played out in really time with this good looking man.

"Sherry,"Mr. Emerson said to me one day,"you are having hassle with your grade in this form. Maybe you need supererogatory help…see me after school and I will see if I can help."I nodded and felt a bang go through me thinking of being alone with my handsome teacher. He wasn't a boy but a tangible dead on target man and I guessed that was why I tingled. I got uncomfortable and adjusted on my death chair which caused more tingles and I couldn't wait until after school.

Finally, thankfully, classes for the day were over. I went to my footlocker, checked my hair…touched my lip with some lipstick…put all my book of account, except my English ledger, in the footlocker and walked to Mr. Emerson's way. He was in the indorse government agency at a desk and version something. Maybe he had forgotten about me…I walked into his part and stood there…the Light was behind me and I wondered if Mr. Emerson could see the abstract of my body through my dress. Finally, he looked up…saw me…smiled, said :"Oh yes Sherry…I almost forgot. Come in and close the doorway. I closed the door and walked to his little desk. We were alone and I wondered about it all."Let's talk,"he said,"about poetry and why we study it…how you will learn to bask it because, after all, lots of poetry is about love and affection."I was blushing and felt a thrill. I didn't know why.

Mr. Emerson opened a Holy Writ on his desk and motioned me over beside him. I was breathing strangely and stood beside him looking down at the Book."This is the composition of Walt Whitman,"he said,"and much of his poetry is about making love and feelings…read this part."I leaned over to attend at the words and his arm went around my waist. It was tender and I wiggled very slightly and began to scan the poem about men and womanhood and"feeling myself…alive"and Mr. Emerson was rubbing my back."What do you think,"he asked."It's nice,"I said, not knowing what else to say and then blurted out :"Your paw tactile property nice on my back Mr. Emerson."and he rubbed up and down my rachis.

My legs were getting unaccented and I moved into him."Are you okay ?"he asked and I could only nod and trust he wouldn't stop rubbing me."I need a near grad,"I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said :"I know"and now his manus was on my bare leg, Thomas More friction. I parted my legs…I was telling him something…that he was arousing me, exciting me, that I wanted a good class and more than. His hand was so exciting and gentle on me."You have soft skin,"he whispered and I opened more.

His deal traveled past my genu, rubbing above my knee…I took hold of the sides of the desk and waited…"gosh !"I oozed,"Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson !"I held myself. We were alone in his office, the door closed,"curl the door, Sherry,"he said and I did."come here you beautiful girl. I think there is an ‘ A'in your future."I nodded and returned to his side, legs apart. Now both his mitt were under my dress. I took a mysterious intimation and looked down at him and smiled."You shouldn't be doing that, Mr. Emerson,"I said. He looked up at me, smiling, saying :"You're properly. Do you like what I shouldn't be doing to you ?"

"Mr. Emerson, that feels nice, really… [ gasp ] [ flex ] really…Oh God !"his finger were privileged my skimpy panties and feeling my cunt. I took a deep breath and closed my eye."You're wet,"he said. I opened my eyes and smiled."Please Mr. Emerson…"“ Yes ?"“ Don't"I felt his fingers stop…"Don't stop…please don't check !"and his fingers went to wreak on me again. We started talking, playing."Your organic structure is easygoing,"he said."The sonant region is your cunt,"there was that word."It's a dirty watchword, Mr. Emerson."He chuckled."Yes, maybe, but you have a wonderful bitch. I like to experience your cunt."Tell me what you want me to do."contact me more."“ What do you want me to touch ?"he asked playfully. His fingerbreadth making me dizzy…"Come on,"he said,"what do you need me to find ?"I whispered :"My cunt."“ I didn't hear you,"he whispered"and kept feeling…OH GOD was he feeling."Say the discussion out loud, Sherry."I hesitated but my knees suddenly went debile and I blurted it out :"slit"“ Whose puss ? Tell me."I had a little spasm and looked in his smiling eyes…"My cunt, Mr. Emerson."“ You're a good missy,"he said and played with my bitch lips.

I lifted my wearing apparel and straddled his legs, his toothsome fingerbreadth now stroking a rhythm method of birth control and my dead body, at the shank, moving to his touch. My cunt was sending somewhere special. It was so restrained in the way and I heard a clocking tick away…my consistency also ticking in a rhythm with accident, stroke…I put out my helping hand on his chest, my eyes closed and spasmed on his finger, catching my breathing time, writhing on his fingers…letting out my breath in pant."You're a good bookman, you have a hot cunt."he said as my weapons system went around his neck, kissing his neck and he was petting my down. I got brave and said :"I have a hot cunt."I was so sensitive, my cunt an electric charge to his tinge. Sending chill through all of me. I was so embarrassed and felt so fond and whole…bubbling over…now his entire helping hand holding my wet cunt.

Finally I was becalm and rested my drumhead on his pectus. My external respiration slowed to normal and he was rubbing my backrest again, feeling my butt and kissing my neck. I was lying against him and thinking what a wonderful thing was my cunt. I shivered again. For the starting time time I was proud of my snatch. It was the foremost of my many example with Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson .