I was taking a shower after coaching college field hockey. Although it was only the first session of the season, the girls already showed the promise and enthusiasm needed to compete well. As it was an uncharacteristically warm and sticky spring night with temperatures still in the early eighties after sunset, I needed a shower before heading home to a promised romantic meal prepared by my partner. The hot water pelting my shoulders, I fantasized about what awaited me at home, probably chilled wine, a rich lasagna, and a crisp green salad, served with lots of love. It was quiet in the girls’ locker room. Everyone had gone home already. Or, so I thought, anyway. Leaning back against the wall, arching my back so that the water could reach my breasts and stomach too, I hummed one of my favorite songs. When I got to the chorus after a short intro, I was belting the words, “I drove all night…to get to you…” I was lathering my thighs, spreading the soft soapy bubbles between my legs, feeling the heat spread. Singing along, my hand lightly lingered there, appreciating the loaded promise that the evening held. I must not have heard her call at first, but there it was, this time rising above the happy raucous that I was busy creating. “Ma'am, ma'am, would you mind if I asked you something? Ma-am?” I froze, feeling a little guilty about my self-indulgence. “Sure,” I said, “have you showered yet?” “No ma'am.” “Come and join me,” I said, wondering if it was such a good idea, teacher-student ethics and all. But, after all, I was just their coach and nothing was going to happen, no line would be crossed, right? Although it was a large stall, I stepped toward the wall, allowing her maximum space to step in. It was Megan, a leggy, athletic youngster with a crown of wayward reddish-blond curls. She was the star midfielder but seemed somewhat shy and socially inexperienced. Someone that everyone would want to protect, I quietly thought. My eyes wandered to the rest of her. Her skin was smooth and milky, her breasts small and pert with the perkiest nipples I have seen in a long time, each a perfect nibble of flesh upon a small pink areola, wrinkled by the sudden change of temperature or my glance perhaps. Her tummy was lean and muscular and her pussy had only a few short, soft wisps of hair. Her pubic mound was small but just enough to draw one’s attention downward. Guiltily, I looked away, turning halfway to let the water wash over my right flank. “Tell me, what did you want to ask me?” “I’m…I…I…was wondering…,” she started haltingly, not knowing how to proceed, or perhaps having second thoughts. “You can ask me anything. Don’t worry. It’s better to ask or talk about something that to leave it unanswered,” I said, doing my best to make her feel comfortable enough to share whatever was on her mind. “Is it wrong…or bad…to masturbate?” she blurted out, her eyes intently fixed somewhere around my feet. “As with most things, it depends,” I answered with therapist-like seriousness, “It is the best way to explore yourself and your sexuality, what you like, what turns you on, that kind of thing. And to safely relieve some sexual attention.” “When is it bad?” she wanted to know next. Now, even more serious, I turn toward her, patiently waiting for her to look up. “I think it’s only when it, or anything else, negatively affects your life that it can become a problem. Let’s say you do it so much that it interferes with your homework…or you do it where it’s indecent…or, you involve others and it may harm your relationship or lead to something more that you are not ready for…” Thinking about what I’ve said, she gently nibbles her lip. The fine water spray patters her chest with just a touch of cool as she absent-mindedly soaps her hips and legs. “So, what if I do it with a friend?” she asks, shy again. “Turn around. Let me wash you back,” I said, hoping to help her relax while keeping my own growing desire in check. She turns around and, after lathering my hands, I rub her back up and down, spreading the sleek soapiness all over. Her neck and shoulder muscles are tight, perhaps from the exercise, perhaps from renewed stress. The fact is, I need her to relax. If only to have a fruitful and open conversation. “Relax,” I said again, massaging her shoulders. “Did you do it with a friend? Tell me what happened,” I continued. “I was my best friend Lola. She often visits our home to have Sunday lunch with my parents and me. After eating, we retire to our bedrooms for an afternoon nap. We usually just talk about school and boys and stuff…she’s been with boys before…a couple of times. I’ve been with her one of these times but I’m still a virgin,” she added. She explained what happened when Lola had an idea to seduce another girlfriend’s dad. I’ll tell that story later. It was so hot that I couldn’t go back to acting all innocently and coolly about it. It stirred my insides, making me ache deep in my belly. She continued: “Last Sunday she talked about being with an older boy and said that she was horny and wanted to touch herself. She put her hands inside her T-shirt and panties. Then she wanted to feel me. I let her. I was feeling weird…hot and achy. At her touch, my nipples became really sensitive and my wetness ran over her fingers. She seemed pleased with my reaction, which brought me right to the edge until I thought I’d explode into a million pieces. Afterward, I could just lay there. It was both incredible and a little frightening. I did not know what to do. I guess I still don’t. What’s happening? What do I do?” “How has she been since?” “Okay. Just the same. Friendly, bubbly…” “And how are you feeling about her?” “A little nervous, I guess. But she is really good at making me feel popular and good. She’s a real friend.” “So, just enjoy your friendship. It sounds wonderful. It does not sound like there is anything to get hung up about. Accept it as a normal experience and opportunity to explore yourself and your body. How your touch feels and how it feels to be with someone.” I added, “How are you feeling now?” The same way I felt with her,” she admitted. I knew exactly what she meant. My legs were wobbly and I was so overcome with desire that I started to rub myself. “You’re beautiful, you know. Bend over a little so that I can have a better look at you.” She was still facing the wall and I pushed her upper body slightly forward so that she put her hands against the cool tiles to balance. I ran my right hand up her spine as the water from the shower head above pulses down. “Is this okay?” I asked. “Oh yes.” She was breathing heavily and pushing her butt back against me. While cupping her breasts with my hands, gently pinching and rolling her nipples, I kissed her all over her neck and back, having lost all resolve to contain myself—embracing your inner self, mindfulness gurus call it. Using my legs, I spread hers wider, thinking secretly how I would have taken her if I had been a man. Groaning and rubbing myself against her leg, pressing my swollen lips and clit against her cool, wet skin, I reached for her, my hand sliding over her cute belly and to her inner thighs. I bent down to run my tongue over her wetness, tasting the juices that were running down her legs. It was delicious, sweet, soapy, and salty. As I rubbed her clit and licked her from behind, she began to moan. I ground my tongue deeper into her pussy, my hand moving faster and harder too. With each stroke and thrust her body tensed until her moans turned into screams of delight. The intense passion of our encounter has taken over our bodies, transporting us to a million stars and galaxies, where time and space has no end. Still clutching her one breast, spearing her with my tongue, and industriously humping her leg, we both came, shattering the stars and galaxies into far-flung space. Her initial intense contractions gently ebbed until it became a slight shudder in her pussy. She sighed. There was a quiet moment before she unexpectedly straightened up and turned around. She gave me a big, squishing hug. Her body was slippery from the soap water and musky love nectar. I embraced her too, softly stroking her back, her face buried in my chest. She looked up, and we kissed, no need for words. Then she said, “How is it to be with a man?” “Honey, that’s a topic for another day…” “If there was only someone who could teach me,” she said, peering intently at me. Then, I told her I maybe had a plan. My fiancé would be exhilarated to show her the ropes and I wouldn’t mind at all. Perhaps she could come to our house after the Saturday practice session and we could have a few cocktails, dance, and see where it leads, I proposed. With renewed excitement and a healthy sexy glow, she said she’ll see us then and left me under the still running water, now considerably colder.
