One lection

During my school days I was regarded as a panoply of female curiosities. Visually, I was an outline. A pitiful girl at the age of fifteen, who was not only a head bigger than her classmates: thin legs, narrow buttocks, flat breasts, short hair.

Nothing in me seemed to be feminine. So I was not an eyewitness for my male classmates, and they let me know.

On top of that came the fact that I got the stamp ‘Streberin’ early. I myself did not consider myself one. The teaching material flew to me. My notes were appropriate. Even then, nothing seemed to me to hang too high.

In addition, I was notorious enough to be right-handed, to be able to counter-act, and to have a double-sarcastic and at times sarcastic humor.

I had the opportunity to do this and other things, especially after the school year in the tuition-company, where I was engaged and helped many a girl swarm.

I saw myself standing over things, but there were traces left in me.

The future of the “stupid bitches” seemed to be predestined from their point of view and did not promise anything good. Because of my “stooping” and “brittle” nature, I would probably never get a guy and end up as “their age” as a tinker – my father was working as a teacher at another school and had the reputation of being a “hard-hitting asshole” .

He was a correct man, not an asshole. He was always fair, but hated “half things”.

As a daughter, I never suffered from my persistent, unyielding, and loving care for my future, and I am indefinitely grateful to him. I like to think back to my father.

Appearance, intelligence, and charm, she owes to her father’s genes, and how it would end with this girl seemed clear to many: she remains alone – at least without a man.

I looked cool as a growing, puberting girl on boys, and was therefore considered a pruder. And not a few people thought I was perhaps a lesbian, but I decided to resist.

The scornful words of one of my classmates, “Who’s in the mood for asparagus,” showed me how he looked and saw me, and there were girls who were looking at me suspiciously.

Although a bright, curious and life-threatening girl, I was very unhappy at the time with the condition of my body. He was indeed questionable. I often looked at myself naked in front of the mirror, compared with girls from my class or from the volleyball club, who were already ‘much farther’ than me. What I saw and said about me was not without reason. I did not look like a girl, and if, in addition to my rule, which I had a long time, nothing in my body would develop physically in the future, I would not end up looking like a woman.
 
I had enough self-confidence, but the unbalanced and ambiguous result of my physical development gnawed within me.

Only in the ladies’ volleyball team did I make a good figure. There, too, I was ambitious, challenged myself and my fellow players and played from time to time after our training in the team of the older guys. They often looked at me enthusiastically, and they raised their thumbs. I was like one of them.

It took me almost 5 years before I had my first sex with a boy, whereas some of my close friends who were able to get up early and to get to the boys seemed to be experts. As soon as the subject was cut, they told who they had “done” with it, and they enjoyed themselves giving them “notes”.

What I heard partly seemed to me exaggerated, but the truth was that they had already very early their experiences with> sex with a boy <.

One or another opportunity offered itself to me in these years, but I did not go into it, although I was not averse to a ‘first time’ and it often played through in my imagination.

It was my pride and also defiance, which should prevent me from being made a prey by some idiot.

I did not want to expose myself to the ridicule I feared: finally to have gotten an “idiot,” who also dared to surrender with the “dry frame” to get her “right.”

Secretly, however, the thought of badly cutting off my “first time,” frightened me of failing to do so.

The easy-spoken saying of my schoolmate, who at that moment worried for general laughter, sat deeply. So I did not trust any guy as soon as I had the impression that he was approaching me even though I liked him. I remained alone with myself and did not want to concern myself with the topic of “boys.” However, my “need” developed into a virtue.

Sex I had only with myself, and I liked to have sex. I masturbated like all my girlfriends, even though I did not get the impression of doing it more often than I did in occasional intimate conversations about “Making It Yourself” and interesting “tools”. At least I would certainly not be an outsider in this case – as a good friend from the volleyball club once said me.

There was some players in the volleyball club in the men’s club, which I found sexy, and who were mostly older than me. One or two seemed to be of interest to me. There were certain signals. But there was nothing concrete. I never went so far, although I was sometimes hot, and when I watched naked, pierced upper body or a distinct imprint in a panties, was damp – that was for me also a reason, sometimes longer during the training to stay.

It stayed a long time: Naked, and with legs apart, preferred to lie on the bed, play at my vagina, caress my nipples, to give in my glowing fantasy of my longing a face and my body a determination. So the only “boy” who wanted me and whom I liked to let me take was my own reflection. He loved me without falling in love with him. I could trust him and trust him very much as soon as I lay on my bed, and he was reliable.

It was more of a feeling than I’d already known it. He could control me in his own way.

I was very often after that. I “drifted it with me” every day and it was nothing unusual for me to masturbate several times a day. I did not think about it. After all, I did nothing but my girlfriends.

As I grew older, growing mental maturity, and physical development, not only in my eyes, but also many things changed.

It remained at the end at 186 centimeters body size, however, I became happily on top fuller and got a rounder butt. I gained weight overall, not only because of the pill, but also because I took less time for training. I set priorities, focused on my high school diploma to create a particularly good degree. I knew exactly where it was going to be. So I soon had no playing form, but never let me sit on the stage as a spectator to take my former team from there, as always with my body and soul, and remained loyal to them and the club for a long time.

During this late stage of development, I often stood before the mirror, looked at what was gradually changing, and thought about making more of my type.

So I changed my hairstyle, let my black hair grow up far over the shoulders and dressed me more frail. Sometimes popping jeans, corresponding to a belly-free top, to emphasize also my increasingly full-fledging breasts – to which I became a little proud with every other basket size – or wore half-bodied clothes, not flat but high shoes – out defiance Consciously, and also in the consciousness of finally accentuating, which should distinguish me from then on: Attractive slim legs. I was no longer a ‘dry frame’. No ugly, stupid bitches, at which one was stifled. These changes attracted increasing attention, especially among the men. There was now enough to touch. A young woman to turn around to look at her apple.

For me, clearly encouraging signals. I enjoyed it, and so I dared more.

I started to make up every day, which I had never put before. I deliberately emphasized my dark brown eyes, put on eye shadows and mascara, gave my lips a light, colorful swing. A pretty, oval face. In it dark eyes, which looked curiously, as between black curtains, new challenges, tasks, which should soon set. A face, now sunny, which I had inherited from my mother-who, of course, noticed my changes, and supported me with her prudent manner.

She obviously liked me to become a very attractive woman. She gave me tips on clothes, gave me courage. She was proud of me and she once said to me that everything needed her time, but she always emphasized that you had to do something for it. What I had suffered in the years had not escaped her, nor did I, as I usually responded to them. She knew me well. I could not make anything to her. She had patience with me and she knew what was important. I owe her much.