All the heroes of the story at the time of the event turned 18 years old.

So the summer has passed, flew by, flew away ... just twisted its tail. The first of September. Hooray?! Why are all adults sure that this is a holiday for children? Whoever the children's opinion found out? Yesterday there was freedom and carelessness, and today, like mules, children loaded with unbearable torbits by ant paths, the anthill flowed into their alma mater, but that would not be so sad, adults antarded each bush with a bush of flowers, which must be handed to a wise ant. The question is, who in this case is a holiday? Who give flowers?

Today I have the same "holiday". The last, the tenth holiday, and it pleases. First time in the last class. My girlfriend, Ira Bystrov, last year realized that there was nothing good at school, just a waste of time and nerves, and after finishing eighth grade, I jumped into a medical school. Having calculated that after his graduation, she will have more pluses for admission to a medical school. And as further life showed, Irka was completely right. I was completely in solidarity with the opinion of a friend, but my parents were of the very opposite opinion and in spite of all my arguments I could not convince them. And here I am once again, the last time I stand on this holiday lineup, looking forward to the end of this booth. Today, only four lessons and home. Though who on houses, and I to Irka in school.

We agreed yesterday to meet and wave into the central children's world, to stock up with various writing utensils. I was already approaching the concrete wall of the medical school, when in the depths of the school building there was a metal trill of an electric bell announcing the end of classes and the school’s open doors began to pour out thin streams of festively dressed girls from their womb. Approaching the entrance, I stopped at the bright holiday poster announcing the joys of the beginning of the school year and, in anticipation of Irishka, I began to study the gouache smears of a local artist or most likely an artist. Irka was not long in coming. Less than five minutes later, she, merrily chasing heels of little white shoes, and gleaming, jumping out from under a short skirt, with bare knees attacked me. Bystrov from the first class was considered the first beauty in our class, but today she was so pretty that I involuntarily admired her, feeling the light jabs of sharp envy under my left breast. Good Beautiful! Beautiful! She flew like a tornado of fire and wrapped her arms around me around my shoulders.

Scattering golden sparks of her red hair. Kissing me on both cheeks, she finally stopped.
- Hi Natashik! It's great that you came! - spreading into a smile, the girlfriend chastoned, - How are you? How is school? What's new? - without giving me time for answers, but in fact they were not needed by her, she continued to shoot me with her own questions. Until finally exhausted. The flow of questions dried up, and she stopped bothering me.

- Svetik will go with us, now she will do it, Bystrova categorically stated. Svetik or Sveta Sidorkina, Ira's new girlfriend in college. For a year they became quite close friends, so sometimes I felt in the background and sometimes I was very jealous. The girls agreed on a completely unexpected interest in the opposite sex and not even in the boys themselves, but in their naked images, of which Svetka turned out to be in a great variety. Her parents were well-known medical researchers in narrow circles and regularly attended some seminars and symposia abroad, returning from which they brought not only rags and equipment, but also various magazines of frivolous content. Which then began to walk along the hands of Svetka's closest girlfriends.I did not enter into her closest circle of friends, and even because of jealousy of Bystrovoy we did not like each other, but she adored Bystrova and never refused anything to her, and thus sometimes high foreign art touched me and sometimes even for several days , turning these days and nights into one continuous holiday of masturbation.

I literally swallowed these magazines into myself, admiring the feminine fluffy beauties in dresses that slightly cover their charms, or even in general showing these very charms having opened them up and turned them inside out. The photos were of such high quality that they allowed us to examine all the little corners of charming female bodies and to study the structure of their wide-open vaginas in the smallest details. What happened at such moments with my vagina, I better not say anything. Only baby cream saved me from the corns on the fingers and on the constantly excited pimpochka. Sometimes Irka brought magazines for women, where instead of women men showed their worth. Exposing their rearing members in front of camera lenses. Admiring these huge bananas, I imagined how they, stretching my crack, enter me, pierce my girl, and begin to fuck her, filling my little body with boiling creamy sperm.

I looked at these excited members and did not even believe that women were able to accept these monsters in themselves and to endure these wild tortures. But once Irka dragged magazines, which showed everything that women can do with these monsters in the smallest detail. I was shocked. After begging magazines from a friend for a few days, I waited for my parents to go to work and shut the door behind them in a chain, threw off my pajamas and fell with magazines into bed turning into a junior researcher in the study of porn pictures. All the black and white pictures that I saw in the boys in the yard earlier could not be compared with these large color and very high-quality illustrations. Considering the folds of oozing sparkling juice of the vagina, stretched by the swollen massive members of the vomiting streams of bubbling sperm, I imagined myself in the place of these blissfully rolled eyes of pretty women and masturbating, mercilessly rubbing my constantly excited pussy.

Three days turned into one continuous orgasm, and I don’t know how it would all end if Irka didn’t come and pick up magazines, but even after that my overexcited brain had been drawing images of fucking beauties in my head forcing my fingers to stretch and swollen lips. Sometimes I was just not able to control my desires and caressed myself on the street and in various places, which only added to lust. I still do not understand how no one ever saw me anywhere. But why not?
- Svetka is right now, do you mind? - Irka flashed golden hair turned to me and looked into my eyes.
Of course, I was against, I was against a hundred times, but having squeezed out the most good-natured smile and without taking my eyes off my friend, I happily nodded my head - That you certainly did not. It's great! - I chirped.

- Well, that's good! - Hugging me around the waist happily responded friend, - and here is our Svetik seven-color!
The flushed Svetik flew at all pairs and our side and only a miracle saved us from a collision. Or rather, me. Because she did not even slow down and crashed into Irishka and hung on her neck, completely ignoring me.
- He came, he is in our place! I saw him! - she patter shot.
- Who is he? - I did not understand, I asked again, and immediately she was incinerated with a surprised Svetka look. Having destroyed the enemy, she defiantly turned away and did not deny her rival the answer.
- He is, well, how to tell you, it is he - slowly looking for and not finding the word, said Irishka, slowly blushing
- Come with us and see everything yourself!

- How with us !? - by surprise Svetik jumped up and stared at me with glowing embers of brown eyes - And if she scared him off. He does not know her.And if she then let it out to anyone?
- Do not talk nonsense, I know Natasha from the pot. She will not tell anything or anyone. Really Nat? - the girlfriend supported me and looked at me ....