Exerting Power / Step One free porn video

EXERTING POWER/Step One By Elizabeth Parris In the nineteen fifties lines between what were girl things and what were boy things were clearly, sharply and unequivocally drawn. Woe betide any boy or girl who crossed those lines. Girls were occasionally given some latitude, boys none. A pretty girl, especially one with an attractive body might get by with being a good athlete, but she had to allow boys to win most of the time. Girls took secretarial studies and boys took wood working. Girls always wore skirts or dresses to school. To defy these unwritten rules meant social isolation and then some. "Then some," you wonder. That included being bumped in the hall, slammed against lockers or tripped on the stairs. I was Allen, the boy who just couldn't bring himself to follow those very inflexible rules. I even dared to call myself Allie. A lot of my free time was spent in the local branch library but not just reading the novels and short story collections I so adored. Like most teen who bothered to read, I identified with certain character types. Unlike most boys my fantasy personas were attractive and very alluring females. Never the romantic heroines swooning in her lover's arms. Oh, never at all. It was the seductive, wickedly controlling girl who always got back at the guy who went with the shrinking violet type. Think of her, my fantasy self, as an apprentice femme fatale. As you can see these imaginary tough gals were so extremely different from the scrawny, fearful effeminate boy that I was. Things began to change at the end of my junior year of high school. You see it was rarely the really macho boys who bullied me. It was the drippy boys, the ones who couldn't intimidate anyone else. One morning before homeroom a couple of these jerks had me up against a row of lockers in an out of the way alcove. I was already near tears although they hadn't really begun to torment me when a boy I hardly knew passed by and noticed what was going on. He walked up behind them and grabbed the leader by the back of his collar. "You and your chump pals lay of this kid. I see you even near him...well, try me and see what happens." Now it was their turn to look scared. They ran off down the hall. "You okay, kid?" I nodded as the tears began to run down my cheeks. He took out his very clean handkerchief and handed it me. "I'll be okay," I lied. "Maybe I should walk you...No, that'll make you a target for being teased by other jerk-offs." My prudish reaction to that coarse expression no doubt showed on my face because he blushed for a second and the apologized awkwardly. "Sorry but that's what they are." I couldn't help smiling since he made me feel like he was reacting to me as if here a girl and not just some little fairy. A whispered thank you came out as if I were flirting. I continued on in more usual tones. "I guess you're right about me being a target. I'm usually the first to get a snowball stuffed down his back...You get the picture." "I can't see why those drips pick on nice kids like you. You're okay in my book." I nodded and somehow felt better that this really good looking, nice guy stood up for me for no real reason that I could put a name to. Funny, but we didn't even know each other's names. Before he could say another word, I hurried off without looking back at him. Maybe it was on account of the way he made me feel weird inside. I had that same weird feeling when I woke up that night after a strangely disconcerting but not at all unpleasant dream. All I could recall was that this boy and I were the only ones in the dream. The erection I had as I woke up was one of the most intense I ever had up to that moment. The details of that dream faded as did my erection. The sun was shining brightly as I sat up in bed wondering if I could ever live out the few details of that dream. The weather was perfect for Bermuda shorts and a tennis shirt. A pair of saddle shoes, an androgynously acceptable item for teens of both sexes, was my choice of footwear along with white crew socks turned down to form cuffs. Miss Zeiring, one of the librarians had left a phone message with my mother asking that I stop by as early as possible. Had I missed returning some books? //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The shops along the main commercial street were not yet open for business as I walked toward the library. I often dawdled in front of certain of the shop windows once I was certain that none of the kids from school were nearby. You must know that the shop windows that drew my attention were the ladies dress shops, the jewelry store, and above all, the ladies' specialty shop with it display of lingerie, hosiery and foundations. No need to provide confirmation of the rumors of my barely hidden effeminate fantasy identity. But today was a school holiday so there would be no chance of me being seen indulging my strange tendencies. I slowed almost to a pause and turned toward the ladies' specialty shop. Blue panties! Robin's egg blue, sleek and tailored! It was just the right style for the villainess in a film noir mystery. Oh, I wanted them so badly. But, I acknowledged to myself that was not to be; not now, not ever. Then it dawned on me that some other time and away from this hidebound neighborhood, in a place where imagination and daring to be different might be valued...Such a place was so far out of my narrow world that I couldn't begin to be believe it could even exist. A sigh and then on my way to the library. To my surprise Miss Zeirng greeted me quite coldly which made me think I had somehow violated some written or unwritten rule and that I was about to be declared persona non grata at what had become, for me and perhaps a few of the shyer, brainier girls, a sanctuary from the social demands and strictures of the rigid teen culture of the nineteen-fifties. She beckoned me to follow her. An instant's hesitation left me just a few feet behind her as we walked toward her office which allowed me to study Miss Zeiring from a new and very different perspective. She wore a green jersey knit dress that was just loose enough to accentuate her curves. Her shapely bottom drew my attention. I was certain she was wearing a girdle; an almost sure thing since most women wore them daily back then. Was it an open bottom girdle or panty girdle? Her moderately high heels emphasized her sculpted ankles. The thrill I felt was mildly sexual but tinged with envy. My mood shifted as it struck me that the object of my envy would always be denied to me. Miss Zeirng opened the door to her office and stood in the doorway until I entered. "Do relax and have seat. Our conversation is all good news." I sat stiffly on the edge of chair facing Miss Zeiring's desk. "Yes, Miss Zeiring," I replied with a quiver in my voice. She smiled at me as she sat down on the edge of her desk. "Allie, sweetie, Miss Zeiring is far too formal for private conversations. You're to call me Rhonda in private although Miss Zeirng will do in the library." She crossed her legs so that her skirt rode up above her knees. From my perspective on the chair, her pose revealed her thigh high enough for me to see the edge of the darker welts of her stocking tops. My face grew warm as Rhonda wet her fingertip and touched it to a non- existent run her stocking. "Allie, I see you're absorbed by what I just did. Oh, no need to deny it. What I did and what I'm letting you see is a way of behaving that some women often have in front of other women and girls. You'll just have to get used to it if you're going to be my special assistant here in the library." "Assistant...special assistant..." The words came out so hesitantly hat they were almost just a string of detached syllables. This had to be a job offer. I leaned forward in my chair as I bit my lower lip. "Miss Zeiring..." My response was interrupted by Miss Zeiring a firm tone bordering on sharpness, reminded me "Allie, you must learn to address me as Rhonda in private conversations." A pause as her blue green eyes seemed to bore through me. "You are to mind what I say if this is to work." "Yes, Rhonda, but I have to ask my mother if it's okay for me to work after school. Senior year is just starting and I need to do well." "I've already cleared this with your mother. But, as you'll come to understand, this opportunity can develop into much more, something which may offer you so much more than an after school and weekend job." I nodded as I watched Miss Zeiring move closer to the edge of her desk as prelude to standing. As she got to her feet, her skirt rose above her knees! I couldn't help notice that she had pressed her hands against the sides of her knees as she moved. Had she deliberately staged that very provocative shift form sitting to standing? Most boys my age would have been at least a little turned on. I admit I felt an odd emotion but it wasn't as simple as being turned on. Oh, no. What I felt was as much envy as anything else. I envied what Miss Zeiring wore as it dawned on me that feminine clothing, especially what was usually concealed, can give girls and women power of men and boys. Now I understood why I was so fascinated with what were then often referred to as undies. Yes, girls did derive power and control from these fascinating bits of clothing. Not only could that but moods be expressed, even if only to one's self, by choice of color and of style; even a young girl could sway men to their will. At that instant, I swore to myself that I would learn to exploit these secrets of feminine power to my own advantage. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The first few weeks of working at the library went by quickly. As it was a small local library with no central air-conditioning, it was rarely crowded. Miss Zeiring's schedule often coincided with my own, something other than coincidence than coincidence. Or was it? Over this short period, I had become comfortable addressing Miss Zeiring as Rhonda which drew smiles from her and gave me a sense of closeness or even intimacy with this oddly attractive and sophisticated woman. Mother dismissed this feeling as some juvenile fantasy on my part. Mother's take on my feelings was shattered when Miss Zeiring invited me to meet her for lunch at her apartment downtown and then to attend a chamber music concert at the nearby museum. "No need to dress to the nines," she advised. Urban casual will do very nicely." What, I wondered, was urban casual? Mother was no help. Nothing to do but buy a few fashion magazines and learn from the cognoscenti. To be seen buying fashion magazines in my neighborhood would make seem even more ridiculously effeminate than I already was. I awkwardly approached Rhonda and after a few false starts managed to blurt out that I hadn't the least notion of urban casual. She wrote public transportation directions to a neighborhood where I could find what I needed to know and buy. "Just don't go overboard." I stared blankly. "Poor, dear Allie," Rhonda announced as he rose to close the office door. "Don't get upset until you hear me out." I nodded. "I've been around long enough to know that you're different from most boys. When I first noticed how different, how special you are, I also saw how bright you are. Being different would have prevented you from getting hired by any of the narrow-minded businesses around here so I offered you this job and you've earned every penny you've been paid. My concern is that the shops where I'm sending you might tempt you to invest in a wardrobe that would cause trouble for you in this neighborhood. No avoiding it. Perhaps somewhere down the road you might be allowed to change at my place but that's a big maybe." //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// I had a weekday off from school a few days after this conversation with Rhonda. To be accurate, it was hardly a conversation but more like a lecture. It left me feeling shaky inside. Shaken, too, that someone was able to see me for what I thought was successfully hidden within me. There had to be more than one message that Rhonda was trying to get into my now turbulent mind. Before that I saw no way to deal with my very odd bent but to keep it buried and hope it would go away. It started raining early that morning. I heard Mother leave for work leaving me the luxury of sitting in bed and listening to the rain striking my window. Soon, I had to slip out from under the covers to empty my rather full bladder. I lifted the toilet seat but thought better of that way of relieving myself. If I was to try to be more like a girl this was the time to start. I put the seat down, sat, pushed my penis toward the center of the commode and peed, peed sitting, peed like a girl! Step one, I acknowledged to myself as I tore a few sheets of toilet tissue. It felt so right, so true to my nature. No more standing like boys do, at least not when I'm alone. I dressed in white Jamaica shorts and a dark blue tennis shirt. (Jamaica shorts were what marketers then called a slightly shorter, more fitted version of the newly popular Bermuda shorts.) Before putting on socks and shoes, I took my hair brush and sat at Mother's vanity table to brush my hair. Forty strokes on each side which is what I somehow knew was what girls were supposed to do. Crew socks and saddle shoes completed my ensemble which, although unisex (a word not yet in existence), made me feel feminine enough to feel I was being true to myself but masculine enough or at least boyish enough to keep from being targeted. It took a few minutes to find my fall/spring weight raincoat. Those of you who were around back then will no doubt recall the off white cotton poplin raincoats that were popular with younger men and women. The linings were almost invariably a brighter plaid. Fashion conscious young women almost always wore a wide brim fedora-like rain hat to match the coat. I didn't have one but was certain that Mother would have no objection to me borrowing hers. It was a short walk to the subway station where, as I waited for the train, tried different ways of wearing the hat. My reflection in the gum machine mirror convinced me that there were more ways for me to shift my appearance then I had ever imagined. The train was practically empty so I had my choice of seats. Since I wasn't at all sure of where my stop was on this line, I chose a bench facing the mid-car doors to make exiting the train easier and faster. At the next stop on or two well-dressed older gentlemen got on. They couldn't help noticing me but what struck me was that they each paused as if evaluating me. A couple of college age boys did the same except they nudged each other by way of calling attention to me. I braced expecting harassment while hoping it would be only verbal. It never came! Why? Maybe it was the wide brimmed rain hat which prevented a full view of my face. They remained standing, leaning against the doors as the train pulled out. They were staring at my legs and with the kind of fascination older boys reserve for the legs of attractive girls. Score one for Allie, I thought. Super. These two saps are thinking I'm a girl and a luscious one, too. Don't sit there like lump, chump. This is the best chance ever to practice flirting. I crossed my legs by sliding one thigh over the opposite knee and then pulling my raincoat tighter over my upper thighs. They couldn't take their eyes off me until they got off a few stops further along the way. Smug is how I felt. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The rain had subsided to a drizzle as I climbed out of the subway station and onto Court Street. I crossed over to Montague Street, a new world at least to me, but a very old world as time is counted. The nineteenth century brownstones were well preserved. Six story pre-war apartment buildings added variety as did the Federal period homes that spoke of old money and class. Some building housed small but upscale restaurants on the ground floors. Miss Zeirng's directions took me to the commercial streets. It really isn't fair to refer to the streets I mean as "commercial." There were no gaudy signs, no tasteless window displays. The shop windows either displayed current but tasteful fashions or very creative, almost unique designs. There were even a few shops with merchandise that was meant for "young juniors" and their Ivy League type boyfriends. The look I wore fit right in. Well, Allie, seems you're a natural for this look. No sense spending the few dollars I had saved up on styles already in my closet. I wandered on. My wanderings were confined to the commercial streets so different from the shopping streets in my neighborhood. The boutiques were a revelation. Handmade clothing in a variety of colors, styles and textures added to my longings to dress as the arty young girl I was reassuring myself I was meant to be. Copper and silver jewelry made in the very shops that displayed theses wares. Bracelets, necklaces and earrings from the southwest to India were to be seen as well. All this in just a few city blocks. Small cafes or cabarets displayed cards advertising performers ranging from folk to jazz to classical. All the more reason to revisit the area. On my way back to the subway station my attention was drawn to a store on the border of this newly discovered world and the downtown court district. It catered to a full range of dancers from modern, ballet, jazz and any other style possible. Leotards, tights, long and short wrap skirts in every color and texture added to my envy of the prerogative of girls to express themselves in almost endless varieties to match every mood. I paused to study the merchandise in the window and soon found myself peering sideways into the shop which was just opening. A rack displaying panties which I guessed were meant to be worn under tights caught my eye. The proprietress noticed me as she unlocked the door. I expected dirty looks but she nodded to me by way of greeting and smiled in a way which made feel relaxed. I took a deep breath and entered. "Good morning, young sir," said the woman. "Let me guess. You're picking up something for a friend or trying to find a gift for your young lady." There was a warmth to her voice that reassured me that I need not feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. Even so my mouth went dry and the best I could manage was whispered yes. "Is the young lady about your size?" was her response. "Yes, she's almost exactly my size." "Size four," she advised. "Perhaps something from among these," she suggested as she swept her arm toward the display of panties. "They're all pure cotton. Very comfy and cut so to be easily covered by a leotard or dance trunks." I couldn't possibly resist. You do know that my first choice was sky blue. Then white followed by red. The shop lady had moved to the cash register as I made my selections. As I carried my choices toward her I felt more than a little self-conscious as she eyed me up and down as if studying my every move. She smiled at my discomfort. "Do relax. Your walk, your every move caught my attention. Very smooth, very graceful. Almost like a cat. Quite unusual in teenage boy. You would have made a fabulous modern dancer. Better I should say you could make a fabulous modern dancer." I blushed as I thanked for this compliment that was not only flattering but one which affirmed my secret self-image. "Let me give you my card. If you are interested in discussing options, you understand what I mean by options, please give me a call. I assure you anything that passes between us will be treated as private." She dropped the card into the small shopping card which now contained my first panties. The cost was far less than I would have thought although I had, at this point, no experience purchasing even the most basic undies. My dismay at the cost must have shown on my face because the store lady said "Fist time buyer's discount." She then opened one of the many storage drawers behind the counter and took out the cutest nylon panties I had ever seen. They were green with tiny loops at the leg opening and the waist band. I later learned that such loops are called picoting but at that time I was just a scrawny boy ignorant of the special nomenclature that goes with feminine intimate apparel. "A new line," she remarked as she dropped the panties into my bag. "My treat. Just let me know what your lady friend thinks of them." //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// I held the shopping bag to me chest half concealing it with my arm. As I walked toward the subway I reassured myself that there was no need to hide the shopping bag. Allie, I convinced myself, you're being a jerk, silly jerk. Even if someone saw the design and the store name on the shopping bag, they couldn't begin to figure out what's in it even if they knew what the store carried. And even if they did, so what? They have no way of knowing what's in the bag and who it's for. Better face it, Allie. You really want people, at least a few special people to come under the spell, under the power of girls' undies especially when you allow them to get a glimpse of what I have on under my boy clothes. The sky clouded up and a few drops of rain fell and the wind began to pick up. A storm was brewing. I hurried toward the subway station but an intense summer shower started before I was even halfway there. I sheltered in the doorway between two stores. It was the kind of arrangement that led up to the apartments above the stores and I wondered what it would be like to live above these stores and the hustle and bustle of commercial district. I smiled openly as it struck me that it would be so neat to live just outside of the Heights. Young men and teenage boys ran through the rain or hailed taxicabs. As I watched them, I felt a stirring down deep in my belly as I passed the time deciding which guys were the cutest. The rain subsided after only a few minutes. There was a strange feeling in my tummy as I hurried toward the subway station. Then it occurred to me that during the brief rain shower when most boys would have been girl watching, I was boy watching! Then a new challenge occurred to me. Could I ever get boys to watch me, to eye me up and down in the same way they eyed girls? My moos soured as I answered my own question. Give up on that idea, you freak! There's no way that will ever happen. Then suddenly I became aware of the shopping bag that contained my new and only panties. Wait a second, I continued silently. Just wearing these panties under my boy clothes might be just the thing to make me...Make me what? Oh, just try it and see how it feels. The mirror attached to a vending machine caught my eye as I waited on the subway platform. It was a larger, clearer mirror than the one I had come across at the start of my trip downtown. The face that looked back at me was half concealed by the fedora style rain hat that was Mother's. Nat all bad I told myself. With the right hairstyle and maybe a tiny bit of eyeliner of shadow...It definitely could work. Who am I kidding? All I would look like would be a silly fruit. Okay, for now I stick to trying to feel natural wearing panties. Better not let them show or it could lead to a beating or worse. I raked my fingers through my hair and smiled at the almost feminine effect. Then I donned the hat and tilted it at different angles. Definitely a kind of femme fatale effect. Learn to work it, you dope. The train rumbled into the station at the instant I was fully confident in my ability to attract males and sooner or later to bend them to my will. I looked forward to a repeat performance of my flirtation with those boys who had admired my legs earlier. "Unwittingly admired" I should add. Those poor saps took me for a real girl and that with almost no effort on my part. Think of what I could have done if only I had been wearing a skirt and flashed my panties at them. But that would have been impossible. Too many kids and adults in my neighborhood would certainly have recognized me. My eyes filled with tears as it dawned on me that as long as I was stuck in this narrow minded enclave I would be just as stuck living my life as a boy. Revolting was the word that could best describe my fate...at least in the short run. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The rain continued as I walked home from the neighborhood subway station. It wasn't coming down hard enough to soak through my raincoat but just enough to keep the street free of shoppers and, best of all, to keep the local riff-raff indoors. It struck me that it wasn't the true greasers that I was afraid to run into. Cocky though they were, they would simply nod at me if wee accidentally made eye-contact. Unlike some of the very snobby cliques, the greasers' girlfriends never teased me or tried to embarrass me. As I walked through the rain that day I began to wonder if they were tough enough, confident enough and, above all, secure enough in who they were so as not to feel they needed to put down any kid who didn't fit into an acceptable label. Kind of like Paul, the cute athlete who chased away some drippy jerks who were bothering me. Smiling inwardly, a wave of confidence swept over me. After hanging my wet raincoat and Mother's rain hat in the laundry room, I spread my newly purchased panties on my bed and filled the sink with lukewarm water. For no reason that I understood, Mother always rinsed newly purchased intimates before wearing them. No reason for me not to follow suit. My fingers trembled as I hung my new undies on the drying rack that I had set up in my bathroom. The looked so pretty that I began to feel ever so slightly aroused even before I tried them on for size. The panties were barely dry when I placed a pair on my bed, slipped off my shorts and for the very first time slipped into my panties. My male apparatus was barely in place when I posed myself before Mother's full length mirror. I was totally awed at how luscious my tush looked as I bent slightly forward causing the thin cotton fabric to pull taut, a move which highlighted both my nether cleavage and the seam at the rear of the crotch, a line when seen through slacks or shorts reduced boys to an ogling, drooling heap of hormone driven lust. My arms were now folded under my soft chest muscles which effected not at all unattractive very young teen's breasts. That was so, so neat. Maybe, just maybe I could actually be turned into a convincing girl! All too soon the phone jarred me out of my reverie. It was Miss Zeiring announcing that she had no one to help at the library and asking me to come in. Better still was that she suggested that shorts would be a good idea due the sticky conditions caused by the lack of air-conditioning. "I'll be right over," I agreed as I started to take off my panties. Oh, well, I thought silently but with an audible sigh. Hang on a sec. No one will be there except me and Miss Zeiring and even if a few people show up they couldn't possibly see my...my undies. So it was off to the library with panties under my shorts! As I stepped out down our front walk I was very aware of a strange new thrill, a thrill that came knowing I was doing something slightly naughty but that carried a great risk. Overriding that was the smug satisfaction that came with taking that first stride along the path to becoming and to taking the power that comes with the exercise of female allure. I reached under my raincoat and ran my fingers of the light fabric of my shorts. Tracing the hem of my panties reassured me that if I bent forward the outline of my panties would become visible! Then an air of disappointment as it struck me that with only Miss Zeirng and me at the library there would be no one on whom I could tentatively exercise hoped for feminine power. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The sun tried to break through the clouds but never quite succeeded although the sky seemed brighter. The wind rose and the sky darkened with ominous clouds as I neared the library. The rumble of distant thunder suggested I would remain at the library for a few hours or else get soaked by the impending storm. Despite the unsettled and ever more blustery weather, the library was stifling with heat, humidity and stagnant air. The large floor fans helped but only if you remained close to them preferably near an open window. The front desk was unattended but a large card advised visitors to "Ring for Service." I noticed that Miss Zeirng's office door was ajar. She called me to her office in response to my tapping the bell. "This afternoon will be a good opportunity for you to check the stacks and see that they're in reasonable order. Just for a little while. There'll be some typing for you a bit later." Somehow the thought of being Miss Zeirng's typist added to the feminine thrill of wearing panties. Oh my gosh! Wouldn't it be so neat of I could flash my panties at some boy but that would mean wearing a dress or skirt...if only I could. Well if some guy who doesn't know me shows up I could flash my panty lines. Nah. Too risky. Not worth getting beaten up." Acknowledging reality saved me for the moment but I still yearned for the power that I was convinced would come from girls' underthings. First things first. My damp raincoat was placed on a hanger in the messy all-purpose room that served as a lounge as well as a storage area. A small refrigerator and a plug in coffee percolator were the only conveniences aside from a couch and a single bathroom. (As I indicated earlier, the word "unisex" had yet to be created.) A library cart laden with books was just outside the door to this room which kept from ignoring my first assignment of the day. After perching on the edge of the ancient couch, I refolded my white crew sox into the cuffed fashion so popular among my female contemporaries. The library was a safe place for me to me openly effeminate since very few bullies or anyone else for that matter ever showed up except to work on school assignments and it was almost finals time. Couple that with the awful weather that day so it was a sure thing that I was safe. Maybe even allow myself to indulge in some femme body movements. My smug feelings were dashed when I heard the little bell at the front desk. For it to be the mailman or a UPS delivery was too much to hope for. I strained to hear what next transpired between Miss Zeirng and whoever had arrived. Miss Zeirng's raised voiced had taken on affirm, even imperious tone. "Young man, Allie as you call him is working here today. I do think Allen would reserve that nickname for friends or close acquaintances and it is obvious that a boy like you is neither. If you bring yourself to call the person you're looking by his proper name, you may see if Allen wants to talk with you." A feeble "Yes, ma'am" was enough for me to recognize Paul's voice. Miss Zeirng then allowed Paul to go back into the stacks to visit. "Hello, Paul," I greeted him in as cold a tone as I could adopt. "Of all the boys around you're the one I would least expect to visit the library. What brings you here on a day like this? You look dressed more for the pool hall than the library." It was delightful to see that he was uncomfortable. "Hi, Allen. I graduate next month and I want to join up; you know, go into to army or the navy or something. Might be good to read up on what training they have. Then I heard you work at the library so I thought we could just say hi or something." "That's so sweet of you." Moving closer to him, I rested my finger tips on his bare forearm. "By the way, I would like it if you called me Allie when we're by ourselves." My fingertips slid down his arm and for a brief instant slipped around his wrist as if I were about to hold his hand. Not that I would have minded holding hands with him but I was literally scared that he might become angry. A deep breath, an attempt to appear firmly in control. Then I made eye contact. Paul was blushed as he averted his gaze. "Looks like you don't like being touched or is it just being touched by me that you don't like?" His mouth opened as if he was about to say something but no words came out. The wry smile I gave him did nothing to relieve his obvious anxiety but it did whet my craving to increase the femme power that was mine to exploit. "Sorry, Allie, I didn't mean anything...Just don't right me off as another jerk..." He might as well have said he was mine to toy with! And toy with him, I was set on doing. Unfortunately, my tennis shirt was tucked him. There was no way I could flash the waistband of my panties unless I untucked it. Then an idea flashed through my mind. "Paul, be a dear and help me shelve some books. Please." His face took on a stupid look, a look that said he had expectations, expectations of getting some cheap thrills at my expense. Get that stupid look off your silly face. On second thought, don't bother because I'm about to enjoy embarrassing you. "Back in a jiffy," was all I said as I headed off to the storage room. Just before turning the hall corner, I looked over my shoulder and issued an order to the sap. "Just wait there and don't move." His face fell but he nodded. It took only a few seconds to put the step stool in the corridor. After opening my shorts, I retucked my shirt so that it would easily slip out of the shorts. Carrying the step stool to the book cart with its load of books to be shelved, I placed the step stool across the top and wheeled it slowly to where Paul waited restlessly. Relief and anticipation showed as the cloud of anxiety passed from his face. I smiled at him but it was the kind of smile one gives a child who has been patient. "Make yourself useful and set up the step stool...or are you going to stand around looking cute? Hmm?" My voice came out as a composite of impatience and playful flirting. I knelt to retrieve some books form the bottom shelf of the cart while making sure my shorts pulled tightly over my tush. Paul's eyes became welded to my bottom reassuring me that my panty limes were visible. You poor sucker. You're going to get that thrill you so desperately want but it's going to be on my terms and with a price. After mounting the step stool, I shelved the books and looked down at Paul. "Really, Paul, I thought you were a really neat guy." A sigh of disgust got him out of his momentary fantasy. "Hand me that batch of books." He handed them to me and I put most of them on the top of the stepstool, then reached to the top shelf, move designed to make my shirt slip out of my shorts. It worked like a charm. A one second glimpse of the waistband of my panties was all it took to bring Paul totally under my control. He couldn't take his eyes off me for even one second. Unlike many real girls who take offense or pretend to take offense when boys look them up and down lecherously with the so-called elevator eyes, I delighted in knowing I was setting him up to be the first victim of the power I was experiencing. A glance over my shoulder allowed me to see that Paul was staring at my legs and my butt. I took the batch of books from Paul's hand and stretched to reach the top shelf. As I had hoped, my tennis shirt rose at the waist to reveal the waistband of the blue panties that could never, in those days, be mistaken for boys' briefs. A few more repetitions of this move and the books were shelved. "Help me down," I asked him in a matter of fact tone as I extended my hand toward him. My hand lingered in his for a longer than necessary and when I drew it away it was a close to a caress as possible without being too obvious. My hip brushed his groin as I turned from him. "Let's get this put away...Don't just stand there like a lump. Say are you getting a...Never mind." Calling attention to his obvious hard-on gave me more leverage over him. I mean what boy wants it made obvious that some fruity kid is getting him hot? Paul followed me as more closely than was necessary which offered me another opportunity to toy with him. Every few yards I stopped suddenly causing Paul to bump against my derriere. That part of his anatomy that did the bumping will be left to your imagination. When I finally stopped outside what passed for a break room, I didn't pull away but lightly ground my bottom against his ever more obvious hard-on. "Paul," I said shrilly, "Could you please tell me what is going on?" He stepped back as he said d "Nothing, Allie. Honest." "Oh," I answered. Then after a brief pause. "That's just too, too bad." With that I disappeared into the break room for no reason that to add to the tension. Emerging from the break room after a few minutes, I took Paul's hand and towed him along behind me. "Keep me company while I check the stacks, see that the books are in order." No help was necessary but it gave me a chance to rest my hips against Paul's and to kneel to check the lower shelves in order to further torment him by showing my panty lines. He was soon breathing heavily meaning it was time to complete my subjugation my hapless victim. "Thank you so very much for helping me out, Paul...Say, maybe we could get together soon, just hang out or go for a walk somewhere kind of private. Wouldn't you like to be alone with me so we can...well? You know." We were facing each other now. My lips parted as I moved even closer to him. He sucked in his breath as my fingertips skimmed over his now bulging jeans. His body tensed as my lips brushed across his. My palm was under his balls now as if to weigh them. "Too bad your jeans are in the way." In my best imitation of Lauren Bacall. Then my lips met his and the tip of my tongue met his. As my tongue brushed across of his mouth he exploded. My hand now crushed his balls adding to the intensity of his orgasm. He all but fell to his knees from the intensity of his loud orgasm. He soon recovered and stared at me with a confused look. Oh, I'm so sorry if I...took advantage of you." His mouth gaped open but I continued on before he could say a word. "What happened just now doesn't make you a queer and besides, you loved every second of it. Even if it did this will be our secret, our special secret." His only response was a sigh of relief as he nodded. "Now go. I have work to do." I kissed my fingertips and put them to his lips. He turned away slowly and began to walk down the row of shelves. "Oh, Paul. I am wearing panties."