The Girl in My College

Yeah, lately I’ve been stalking somebody. 😈

Okay. Today I’ll tell you about this pretty north-eastern girl I’ve been following for some time. When people ask me to describe somebody in one word, I usually go nuts, but for this one girl, after a thorough research on thesaurus.com I finally have a word. Kaleidoscopic

Brownish bob cut hair with streaks of chocolate cherry. Round face, bright lips, dazzling specs. Loose shirt, often black. Baggy trousers, gathered at ankles. A pair of white sneakers. Samsung in a minion phone case. Painted nails. Everything I usually detest with all my heart. I don’t know why this eye-jabbing combination works so right on this girl. Despite all these contrasts, she looks stunning. Kaleidoscopic

She’s in English Honours, but we have a common class at 12:30 – Political Science. Last semester, I had a pathetic attendance record  (it was the highest in the class, by the way) as our pol. science teacher is as useless as a crushed toothpaste carton. He kept begging us to show up in the class for the love of God, but nobody had the courage to bear extreme psychological torture for nonstop 60 minutes. So as it turned out, nobody showed up. I occasionally did, just because I felt bad for the poor guy. 

But this semester, I have got a nicer reason to race to room number 32 right after Roman History is over. This girl. 

I don’t know her name. Now, you can’t make out their names, I tell you. Not in the first six attempts in any way. 

There are a few classmates of mine who belong to Manipur. They all have unpronounceable names. There’s this guy called Lungpolkam or something, there’s Bethel Debobarma, then Some Liasharam and then there’s P.G. because even those Spell Bee nerds can’t pronounce the full form. 

I’ve tried to get her name out. I badgered P.G. for a while, and then I started sitting close to her in pol. science classes so that if the name pops out in some conversations in her group, I catch bits of it. There was a golden opportunity once. The teacher was asking everybody if they had understood what he just taught. So he went like, ” Ravish, did you get that? ” and I lied with a tonne of confidence,” yes sir, I got that. ” Then he turned to a few more guys before he finally turned to her, “You with a difficult name! Did you understand what was Ambedkar’s view on women? ” She nodded in an apathetic manner. I told you, the teacher is useless. 

After that, it slipped out on a few occasions. But I could never make out the head and tail of it no matter how much of my genius brain I applied to decipher the sound.  

So one day, I consulted her classmate, a UP guy, who seemed to have never watched porn in his life. He was quite shy for a college dope, and he blushed as he said he didn’t know her name. 

“But she has a boyfriend. “He mentioned. My heart kind of broke. Not the glass-globe-hurled-at-the-floor kind of broke, but like a tooth foliage, like the sharp pain of a torn muscle. 

One day, Rohit asked her directly. She looked at him dubiously, and asked back,

“But why do you want to know my name? ”

Well, so, till this day, the name is a mystery. 

But today I saw her in shorts, and God! She was HOT! Waxed porcelain skin. She was sitting on the stairs and I was passing by and my eyes just got stuck at her. She saw me and drew her legs together. I swear to God I wasn’t thinking about her vagina or whatever. I was just looking at the legs. I mean that’s allowed, right? 

I spent a good fifteen minutes by the stairs, having patties, and stealing glances at her. Rohit was smirking at me all the goddamn time, but I couldn’t react, I was already dazzled by the light of her skin. 

My Hot Bio Teacher : nostalgia #9

😈😈😈

Just when I hit puberty, a hot bio teacher joined our school. She was an incarnation of Aphrodite, a possessor of everything that drives a man nuts. Long flowing tresses, errorless face, porcelain skin, slender waist, firm breasts, round ass, elegant walk, and tight clothes. To be honest, I just got a hard on picturing her. 

Anyway, those days the only literature I worshipped was Antarvasna stories. It was a website that served you countless sex stories, each with a title horny enough to seduce Baba Ramdev. Most of the entries panned to hot bio teachers, where a horny 16 year old student would get private tuitions from a sexy lady who had ethereal dimensions. All the ladies were 36-22-36, and sluts. The guy had a 9 inch long dick, or any size bigger than that of the lady’s husband. The boy would attend all the classes, but he never gave a shit about osmosis and all that crap. The only thing he wanted to do in life was to fuck that hotty. Then, one day, they would move to the chapter called reproduction, and it would usually be a cold rainy night when her husband would be away, when he would finally fuuuccck her brains out. 

But that, of course, never happened with me. Because most of the women in real world aren’t slut. Anyway, when she left the school the next year, five hundred something boys of our school found a common reason to sing the blues.

We spent years in the erotic fantasies of her, and all the while her memories slowly waned away. Now we couldn’t exactly picture her, but jerked off to whatever picture lit up our mind. 

Then, in std. VIII, she made a return. Since there were two teachers for the same post, we had a referendum. She won with a whopping majority. 

By that time, I’d started writing sex stories myself. That was how I utilised my Sanskrit notebook. Of course, puberty had hit me like a storm. 
My nights were heavenly now. In my fantasies, I’d united with her in every location of the planet, right from Eiffel tower to our school toilet. We even discussed her in lunch. 

The only pain in the ass was her fatso nephew. He was ugly as skunk, crazy as bull and fat as elephant, and so we had to keep away from him. But I’m quite sure he fancied her too. 

Anyway, she elaborated everything about plant reproduction, and every time she uttered ‘sex gametes’, I swear I nearly came. The sheer imagination of she uttering ‘penis’ was beyond bliss. 

But as it turned out, she never uttered penis. At least not in front of me. Just before animal reproduction, she quit teaching to marry a millionaire in the neighbor town. Happy ending. 

The English teacher taught us animal reproduction in the lunch break the other day. He didn’t look like someone who’d ever had sex. He was talking about the temperature of scrotum and all, and it was boring as Baba Ramdev’s yoga DVDs. 

I searched her on Facebook but her account was secured like Pentagon. Anyway, I have a photo of her and wherever I go, when people start bluffing about their hot schoolteachers, I flash her picture in front of their faces. Two days later, they come with their Bluetooth devices on, begging for the photograph. I tell them to fuck off.