Sherry : How I learned to love my pussy by Phillisroger

My public figure is Sherry. I am a passably girl and shy. I have a confession. I was also embarrassed by my cunt. I knew from my parents that it was somehow a"dirty"affair to have and very common soldier. They even called it"my privates."My lady friend wouldn't even say the word out loud…only mentioning it in whispering. So I was very shy about it all what with walking around knowing that I had a twat ! At least it was hidden under my clothes and panty. It may seem strange but as soon as I started to get up I learned sex was contaminating and it all centered on having a cunt. Something I shouldn't appearance or touch and certainly not let anyone else see or bear on. It was all embarrassing and made me shy. But my shyness must give been what attracted my teacher to read a special interest in me ! I wasn't much of a student and this played into his hands…did I write"hands ?"and those fingers on his custody. I have never had such fun in school and after school. This is the account of how I learned to love my cunt.

Mr. Emerson was our English people instructor and we were studying poetry…studying anything was hard for me, but verse ? That was extra hard. It was a time when muckle of things were hard and confusing…there were my parents, my protagonist, my subject field and… ( whispering ) …boys and mess of them…boys made us girls giggle and titter and lots of whispers about naughty thing like sex and fucking. We couldn't say that word out loud of course. Another such word was cunt. We could say most anything else but those two Bible made us blush. We could even talk about son'penis but when it came to fucking and pussy those were"whisper words"and very personal.

So I did get word things in school but there was so much to learn that was not in school…the rest of the world ( and boys ! ). But, as I wrote, we were just then working on verse and it was hard for me…I was heroic for a good grade so I could graduate and a bad grade in English wouldn't help. In my mind I would do anything for a respectable English language form. It helped…I didn't know it at the time…that my instructor was safe looking. He wasn't all that youth but immature enough that all us young lady had fantasies or compaction on him and at lunch we would titter about what might happen…if…well, you know, if our phantasy were ever played out in real time with this good looking man.

"Sherry,"Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson said to me one day,"you are having worry with your mark in this course of study. Maybe you need spare help…see me after school and I will see if I can help."I nodded and felt a thrill go through me thinking of being alone with my handsome instructor. He wasn't a boy but a really honest man and I guessed that was why I tingled. I got uncomfortable and adjusted on my professorship which caused more shiver and I couldn't wait until after school.

Finally, thankfully, class for the day were over. I went to my locker, checked my hair…touched my back talk with some lipstick…put all my books, except my English account book, in the cabinet and walked to Mr. Emerson's elbow room. He was in the back situation at a desk and version something. Maybe he had forgotten about me…I walked into his office and stood there…the light was behind me and I wondered if Mr. Emerson could see the scheme of my consistency through my dress. Finally, he looked up…saw me…smiled, said :"Oh yes Sherry…I almost forgot. semen in and close up the door. I closed the room access and walked to his little desk. We were alone and I wondered about it all."Let's talk,"he said,"about poesy and why we study it…how you will get a line to savor it because, after all, lots of verse is about love and affection."I was blushing and felt a thrill. I didn't know why.

Mr. Emerson opened a rule book 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 writing of Walt Whitman,"he said,"and much of his poetry is about love and feelings…read this part."I leaned over to look at the words and his arm went around my waist. It was fond and I wiggled very slightly and began to read the poem about men and char and"feeling myself…alive"and Mr. Emerson was rubbing my backbone."What do you remember,"he asked."It's nice,"I said, not knowing what else to say and then blurted out :"Your helping hand feels nice on my back Mr. Emerson."and he rubbed up and down my thorn.

My peg were getting unaccented and I moved into him."Are you okay ?"he asked and I could only nod and hope he wouldn't occlusive rubbing me."I need a salutary grade,"I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said :"I know"and now his hand was on my bare leg, more detrition. I parted my legs…I was telling him something…that he was arousing me, exciting me, that I wanted a good grade and more. His hand was so exciting and subdued on me."You have soft skin,"he whispered and I opened more.

His bridge player traveled past my knee joint, rubbing above my knee…I took grasp of the sides of the desk and waited…"gosh !"I oozed,"Mr. Emerson !"I held myself. We were alone in his office, the door closed,"Lock the doorway, Sherry,"he said and I did."cum here you beautiful girl. I think there is an ‘ A'in your future."I nodded and returned to his slope, legs apart. Now both his hands were under my wearing apparel. I took a bass 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 right field. Do you like what I shouldn't be doing to you ?"

"Mr. Emerson, that feels nice, really… [ pant ] [ flex ] really…Oh God !"his fingers were inside my lean panties and feeling my cunt. I took a cryptic breath and closed my eyes."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 stop !"and his fingers went to work on me again. We started talking, playing."Your dead body is soft,"he said."The diffused percentage is your cunt,"there was that word."It's a dirty countersign, Mr. Emerson."He chuckled."Yes, maybe, but you have a wonderful cunt. I like to feel your cunt."Tell me what you want me to do."Touch me more."“ What do you desire me to touch ?"he asked playfully. His digit making me dizzy…"Come on,"he said,"what do you require me to experience ?"I whispered :"My cunt."“ I didn't hear you,"he whispered"and kept feeling…OH GOD was he feeling."Say the password out loud, Sherry."I hesitated but my stifle suddenly went light and I blurted it out :"puss"“ Whose cunt ? Tell me."I had a piddling cramp and looked in his smiling eyes…"My pussy, Mr. Emerson."“ You're a good lady friend,"he said and played with my snatch lips.

I lifted my dress and straddled his legs, his delicious fingerbreadth now stroking a rhythm method and my dead body, at the waist, moving to his touch. My puss was sending somewhere special. It was so quiet in the elbow room and I heard a clocking tick away…my body also ticking in a rhythm with solidus, stroke…I put out my hired man on his chest, my centre closed and spasmed on his fingers, catching my breathing space, writhing on his fingers…letting out my breath in pant."You're a good student, you have a hot cunt."he said as my arms went around his neck opening, kissing his cervix and he was petting my John L. H. Down. I got brave and said :"I have a hot cunt."I was so sensitive, my bitch an electric armorial bearing to his touch. Sending flush through all of me. I was so embarrassed and felt so warm and whole…bubbling over…now his entire deal holding my wet cunt.

Finally I was calm and reside my head on his chest. My breathing slowed to pattern and he was rubbing my cover again, feeling my butt and kissing my neck opening. I was lying against him and thinking what a fantastic thing was my cunt. I shivered again. For the inaugural time I was proud of my pussy. It was the beginning of my many moral with Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson .