Tales Told Out Of School. 4. Iris Corrects An Unfortunate Mistake.

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Back to School.

Iris walked back to the school with him, giving a good deal of thought as to how she would find him each day somewhere in the school, and if the opportunity was there, they would do all of that again, but as discreetly as they could, or it would not be allowed to happen. Discretion was paramount. They both agreed on that. They could not risk discovery.

They could be intimate either in that same change room, when it was not in use, and to which she learned that he had a key, or even that adjacent furnace room, which Mr. Henry kept scrupulously clean, and which had a small bed in it. That, would be ideal as no one except Mr. Henry went in there, and only late at night, or early in the morning to make up the furnace. Tony also had a key for that, so that he might see to that furnace if Mr. Henry was not there himself. Tony slept in there sometimes too, if he had been working late. As it was, they had agreed to meet in Church on that following day, and every Saturday, at least, afterward, though no more formal plan than that, had presented itself, nor what, where, or how, things might unfold beyond that, though both of their minds were directed along those lines.

They would not be stopped now.

Outside of the gates, when no one had been close by, he had helped her on with her panties, as he had shielded her from view, and then had caressed her there again. He was ready for her about then, as she was too, and despite the danger of discovery, she let him get closer to her and go into her once more out of sight of the road. He soon came again, as they kissed, holding her there for as long as he could and only slipping from her as his libido, died.

She would certainly need to rinse her panties out after that, but she was glad it had happened. No one had been able to see them.

He left his handkerchief with her, resting inside of her panties as he would have liked to have been himself, to catch most of him. It would not do to lose that handkerchief anywhere in the school, with evidence of what had happened, and his initials on it with those tell-tale wet stains, especially if it were seen to have fallen from under Iris’s skirt.

There was a gentle parting kiss. What they had seen in each other’s eyes as they smiled at each other and bade each other a gentle farewell as they touched, had been encyclopedic. They had both been tongue-tied at what they felt for each other and knew of each other now. They were in love, and they knew it, though those words had not yet been spoken openly, though the more observant world might already know.

Next time, it would progress just as it had earlier, but next time he would dare say much more, and so would she. Next time, there would be a full understanding of what the rest of their lives together might mean, though the exact course of it may not yet be known, other than that they would always be together, and what they now had shared, and would continue to share in increasingly passionate encounters could never be taken from them.

Iris made a few entries into her personal diary after that, before she retired to dream about what had happened. T.H. figured often, along with many cryptic little abbreviations, known only to her.

For the previous occasion when they had been intimate in the change room, she entered a large numeral one, at the top of the page, followed by several increasingly large exclamation marks to correspond with each stage of their discoveries about each other, with the last two, surmounted by ’policeman’s helmets, erupting; ‘ejaculating’ from the top, and on the following Saturday, a numeral five, also followed by five exclamation marks, each one, similarly decorated at the top, and also ‘ejaculating’, and with a ‘seven’ in brackets. She intended to keep a running total of the number of times they made love from this moment forward, each day, and in total, and would strive to remember each one in detail. She put the small flower he had given her, and with which he had decorated her between her breasts, as they made love, and between her labia afterward, between the pages, with a piece of blotting paper around it, and laid it out to press. It was his first gift that she could actually preserve as all of the others had leaked from her. It was unlikely that anything had taken root.

She rinsed out her skirt, her panties and his handkerchief, to get rid of the evidence of what they had done. They were even now, drying out on the radiator in her room, out of sight. Anyone who might see them on that radiator, drying together, might draw a correct conclusion, and that would never do.

She would start a sketch book, and capture moments in time on paper, and even draw memories. There would be photographs too, which no one else would ever see. She intended that it would be private, so she would not mind making her drawings as explicit as the photographs would be, if she wanted to, and she did want to. She was a good artist.

When they next went out, she would have her drawing book with her and her camera, and would get him to pose for her, naked, and she would draw him and photograph him, as she saw him now; that aroused part of him in her mind, and erect, at first.

If she were naked too as she drew him and let him photograph her in the same way, the outcome after that would be easily predicted, though it would be the same, naked or not, just more urgent, and faster.


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