It happened ten years ago, when I was only eighteen and I completed my studies in the last class of the most ordinary provincial school. Then I was thin, shy "nerd" who could not boast of leadership qualities or physical strength. At the same time, it was impossible to call me absolutely dead. I practiced on a horizontal bar almost every day, wanting to look, if not “like Arnold,” then at least like a familiar boxer, a neighbor in the stairwell. However, I had that age when you grow too fast for your muscle mass to keep pace with changing proportions. With the girls I did not get along. To tell the truth, I didn’t really try to get acquainted with them: the final exams were already clearly looming ahead and all my thoughts were directed to the future - I was planning to go to college.

* * *

It all started from the day when, in a physical education class, I accidentally discovered one place hidden from prying eyes. It was a small room, hidden behind a thick curtain at the end of a darkened utility room, which served as a warehouse for sports equipment. At first glance, there was nothing interesting there: on the one hand there were a washstand and a Swedish wall with wooden crossbars, and a horizontal bar was bolted to the opposite wall. Having made an exit on him by force (I regularly did this in the courtyard), I saw in front of me a long time not washed narrow window, located under the very ceiling, which opened a view of the ... teaching shower ?! Yes, it was definitely a typical Soviet-style shower: along the wall there were several “sink places” separated by partitions. I could see all the booths pretty well, but there was no one inside. Jumping off the bar, I shrugged and left the room. Even if that shower was used, I didn’t have any desire to spy on old women like the noisy Zoya Petrovna, who was now in charge of the gym.

On the way home, I recalled the names of all four school gymnasts: Zoya Petrovna, Marya Sergeevna, Elena Vitalevna, and ... Lord, Elena Vitalevna! From such a sudden and adventurous thought, goose bumps ran down my skin. For four years, Elena Vitalyevna led a physical culture with us and all our boys were literally in love with her. More surprising, by our standards, she was no longer young, about thirty-three. Tall and strong, she possessed some special, strict beauty. The correct face, steel look and magnificent athletic figure made her something like a warrior Xena from the then popular TV series. It was rumored that before she came to our school, she worked as a nurse, and I tried many times to imagine how she looked in a medical coat. One way or another, from the perspective of seeing her naked, I was taking a breath away.

For about a week I looked into the gym every day, but I could never find Elena Vitalyevna there, although I met her in the cafeteria from time to time. Apparently, she worked more in school sections and with extension workers than she did the usual physical education classes. In the end, I decided that I was behaving like some kind of maniac, and gave up trying to wait for my former teacher. Moreover, the yard was in the middle of May and there were tough times for graduate students. I would have finished school without any adventure, if not for His Majesty Chance.

After passing the school exams, on one unbearably hot June day, the headman called me and politely said that I would not be given a certificate tomorrow if I didn’t immediately endorse the standards for physical education. Overcoming laziness, I put on a T-shirt, shorts and went light in a school that seemed to be no longer my own. To my happiness, in the gymnasium, work was once again being done - Zoya Petrovna was taking tests with lagging students.Without any problems, having passed a 100-meter and a triple jump, I began to get home, but suddenly I noticed a vaguely familiar subject on the teacher’s desk. It was a whistle. Metallic and thin, on a blue-green satin cord - he, I was almost sure, could only belong to Elena Vitalevna. After standing for a moment in thought and once again mentally laughing at my “insidious plan”, I continued on my way to the exit and literally collided with my former teacher at the door.

“And are you here, Slavik?” She kindly addressed me. “How are the exams? Don't you go to the medal? ”

“N-no, I have a lot of fours there,” I replied, deciding not to recall the trio of singing. Elena Vitalyevna was simply stunningly beautiful today. Her dark hair was gathered in a neat tail, and already had time to tan the skin smelled of lilac and summer ...

"Lena, hold it up!" - I heard a cry from the depths of the gym. I turned around. Zoya Petrovna with an energetic gesture called me to her: “So, lagging behind! Let's help the mats to fold, the girls are too weak! ”

While I, taking off my white T-shirt, was busy with heavy dusty mattresses, the lesson time came to an end and the hall was almost empty. When I finished my work, I automatically raised two basketballs lying side by side to carry them to the warehouse. Being among the shelves and drawers filled with sports equipment, I again remembered the room behind the curtain. It was still empty, but, looking inside, I heard the quiet sound of water. “Someone is taking a shower!” After a brief struggle with fear, my curiosity prevailed. Stepping carefully, I climbed the Swedish wall and “fell” with my hands on the horizontal bar, bolted to the opposite wall. It turned out a kind of "laying down", only my hands were on the horizontal bar, and my feet were on a wooden crossbar. Having settled in this way, I carefully raised my head and looked out the window of the shower ... My teacher was there.

I could see Elena Vitalyevna’s naked body quite clearly. The review did not interfere with either the hands behind the head or the hair pulled back. Playful rivulets flowed along every curve of her incredible body, covering her tight chest with tight nipples and rolling down along elastic thighs. From time to time she changed her pose gracefully, and I eagerly caught her every movement. Surprisingly, lively observation of a naked woman gave quite different sensations than the ones I received from watching pornographic videos. My cock was a stake.

After a while, the window began to fog up. I instinctively tried to wipe it off, tearing one hand off the horizontal bar, but, alas, the glass always fogs up on the warmer and wet side. Leaving useless attempts to clear the window, I suddenly found out that Elena Vitalyevna's booth was empty ... At the same instant, someone took me by the ankles and pulled me back with force. In order not to fall, I grasped the horizontal bar with my hands and, bending, hung between it and the Swedish wall. I felt that I could not release my legs - they were fixed between two wooden crossbars. Letting go of the horizontal bar, I would risk just breaking my shin. Turning around, I (oh, horror) saw Elena Vitalyevna. Wet and barefoot, with flowing hair and in only one towel, she squinted and looked at me. In her eyes were read offense and some kind of vengeful light. How did she get here? Probably, I did not notice the door that connected the teaching dressing room with my “secret” room. However, now I was much more concerned with the question of what to do next.

Still not saying a word, Elena Vitalevna in one fell swoop pulled off my shorts and shorts to the very socks and, putting her hands on the sides, looked at my standing member with a businesslike and reproach, as if telling myself “What do we have here? Well, it is - an erection! ”Turning to the sink near the wall, my teacher squeezed liquid soap into her hands and began to rub it quickly.Having barely collected my thoughts after the overwhelming invasion, I decided to act immediately, hoping to come up with at least some justification on the go.

“Elena Vital ...” - I began, but then I felt her slippery hand, which encircled my erect member. Without preludes and shadows of constraint, she began to masturbate him so vigorously and skillfully, as if ...