Wherry learns lots of things from her teacher...including that she loves her cunt
Sherry: How I learned to love my cunt by Phillisroger
My name is Sherry. I am a pretty 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” 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 whispers. So I was very shy about it all what with walking around knowing that I had a cunt! 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 dirty and it all centered on having a cunt. Something I shouldn’t show or touch and certainly not let anyone else see or touch. It was all embarrassing and made me shy. But my shyness must have been what attracted my teacher to take 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 hands. I have never had such fun in school 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 poetry? That was extra hard. It was a time when lots of things were hard and confusing…there were my parents, my friends, my studies and…(whisper)…boys and lots of them…boys made us girls giggle and titter and lots of whispers about naughty things 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 words made us blush. We could even talk about boys’ penises but when it came to fucking and cunt those were “whisper words” and very personal.
So I did learn 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 poetry and it was hard for me…I was desperate 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 good English grade. It helped…I didn’t know it at the time…that my teacher was good looking. He wasn’t all that young but young enough that all us girls had fantasies or crushes on him and at lunch we would giggle about what might happen…if…well, you know, if our fantasies were ever played out in real time with this good looking man.
“Sherry,” Mr. Emerson said to me one day, “you are having trouble with your grade in this class. Maybe you need extra 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 teacher. He wasn’t a boy but a real true man and I guessed that was why I tingled. I got uncomfortable and adjusted on my 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 locker, checked my hair…touched my lips with some lipstick…put all my books, except my English book, in the locker and walked to Mr. Emerson’s room. He was in the back office at a desk and reading 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 outline 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 door. 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 enjoy 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 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 warm and I wiggled very slightly and began to read the poem about men and women 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 hand feels nice on my back Mr. Emerson.” and he rubbed up and down my spine.
My legs were getting weak and I moved into him. “Are you okay?” he asked and I could only nod and hope he wouldn’t stop rubbing me. “I need a good grade,” I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said: “I know” and now his hand was on my bare leg, more rubbing. 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 soft on me. “You have soft skin,” he whispered and I opened more.
His hand traveled past my knee, rubbing above my knee…I took hold 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 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 hands were under my dress. I took a deep breath 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. Do you like what I shouldn’t be doing to you?”
“Mr. Emerson, that feels nice, really…[gasp][flex] really…Oh God!” his fingers were inside my skimpy panties and feeling my cunt. I took a deep 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 body is soft,” he said. “The softest part is your cunt,” there was that word. “It’s a dirty word, 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 want me to touch?” he asked playfully. His fingers making me dizzy…”Come on,” he said, “what do you want me to feel?” I whispered: “My cunt.” “I didn’t hear you,” he whispered” and kept feeling…OH GOD was he feeling. “Say the word out loud, Sherry.” I hesitated but my knees suddenly went weak and I blurted it out: “cunt” “Whose cunt? Tell me.” I had a little spasm and looked in his smiling eyes…”My cunt, Mr. Emerson.” “You’re a good girl,” he said and played with my cunt lips.
I lifted my dress and straddled his legs, his delicious fingers now stroking a rhythm and my body, at the waist, moving to his touch. My cunt was sending somewhere special. It was so quiet in the room and I heard a clocking ticking away…my body also ticking in a rhythm with stroke, stroke…I put out my hands on his chest, my eyes closed and spasmed on his fingers, catching my breath, writhing on his fingers…letting out my breath in gasps. “You’re a good student, you have a hot cunt.” he said as my arms 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 touch. Sending thrills through all of me. I was so embarrassed and felt so warm and whole…bubbling over…now his entire hand holding my wet cunt.
Finally I was calm and rested my head on his chest. My breathing slowed to normal and he was rubbing my back 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 first time I was proud of my cunt. It was the first of my many lessons with Mr. Emerson.