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I had the worst crush on Mrs. B. It was in her class that I learned that I have a fatal weakness for redheads. I loved to watch her move through the room. She wore skirts and dresses that were too short for female students, but no one complained. It’s just who she was. She had lovely legs, no reason not to let the world see them. When she wore pants (they were just recently allowed), they were skintight, revealing a cute tight little ass. Tops were also tight, often with some cleavage showing between her pretty B-cup breasts.

Towards the middle of the semester, Mrs. B. devised an assignment where we had to act out a soliloquy from any Shakespeare play. I chose Marc Antony’s “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” speech from Julius Caesar. As we had to be in costume for extra credit, I brought a flat sheet to school to fashion into a toga of sorts. There was a supply closet in the front of the room where people could change. Boys would pretend to peek in the closet when girls were changing. There wasn’t much to see for the most part, as girls might throw a long night gown over their clothes to play Juliet. The door locked on the outside when closed completely, so the few kids with major changes could do so with some privacy.

Sarah leaned down, her face right above the base of his cock and smelled it. It was like heaven. She pushed her nose down onto his cock inhaling as she rubbed it up along the underside, relishing the slow burn. Finally reaching the head of his dick her nose pressed up against something wet and she pulled away. A long string of precum stretched up from his dick to the end of her nose. Breaking it midway with her fingers she gathered the strand around her hand and brought it to her nose and smelled. This was the purest the smell had been. Though every part of father’s body smelled unique, it had a general musk to it, and this little smear of precum on her knuckles was nothing but that musk.