TG ARCHIVES;'Erica Unleashed in High School #2'{EricA}( F^B teen1 tg )[2!3]
"Erica Unleashed"
The continuing saga of young Erica Somerville, who at the beginning of the story was a 13 year old loser boy named Eric. You really should start at the beginning.
All the standard disclaimers apply.
Support Nifty or else these stories will go away and you'll have trouble finding what you need.
Now a bit more before we proceed with the story.
Though I have gotten some positive feedback on the Erica story, I have a LONG way to go before I see myself as a decent writer. One weakness in particular is my inability to describe things as a writer should. I suppose if I concentrated long and hard I might be able to conjure up images of certain sights and smells and noises, but one of the skills most necessary for a story like this is describing the main characters - how they look, and the things they wear. I want Erica to dress sexy every day of school, but she can't very well wear the same outfit every day. So, my loyal readers, I'll let you know that while I'm trying to devote a bit of time to learning more about women's fashions, what's trendy and how to describe various types of skirts, dresses, shoes, etc ... it would also be nice if any of you wanted to help.
I have always thought it would be fun to collaborate on a story, so while I
could use help with the clothing, I'd also enjoy help with plot, character
development, dialogue, etc, if anyone would like to team up with me. Maybe even contribute a chapter from someone else's point of view. Donna? Jake (when he gets home, poor thing)? Some guy Erica is teasing senseless? A teacher thinking inappropriate thoughts of a certain student? Oh, how I would dearly love to hear what any of the neighbors we met are thinking, especially little William. Of course I'd like to have some final say on what gets posted to ensure it doesn't go too far and stays within the general scheme of what I'm going for, but I think it would be great fun to work together and hear others' ideas.
So, there it is. Please let me know if you're interested. You can either receive credit for your contribution or we can keep it anonymous (I'll simply
say "contributor A did this, contributor B did that, etc." Contact me at ericaunleashed@aol.com (mailto:ericaunleashed@aol.com) if interested in discussing the possibilities.
And now -- FINALLY -- on to the story:
After a hot bath that evening, Donna massaged my legs and feet with some sort of scented oils that seemed to work their way into my joints and bones and muscles and provided great relief. I wasn't about to give up wearing sexy heels to school, so with the help of my sexy mentor we would do whatever it took to provide relief and minimize any ill effects the wearing of the heels might cause. I wasn't too concerned, since I would be sitting most of the day with just short walks between classes. It was just something I'd have to get used to.
That night I dreamed of my history teacher, Eric. God, what a hottie. Of course it was all a bit confusing, given my background. A boy who turns into a girl - if he likes girls, does that mean "she" is straight or gay? If "he" is now a girl, then liking boys would be normal, right? I never saw myself as gay, or bi, and my love (and lust) for Donna transcends any outward appearance of gender on my part or my feelings for anyone else ... but when I first saw that gorgeous hunk of history teacher, I almost swooned. (I'm not sure what swooning is, but I'm pretty sure I almost did it -- the only thing that prevented it was because I'm Erica, and Erica is always in control of her emotions.)
As with all dreams, if I tried to describe it - it would start to sound like total nonsense. Let's just say Eric is a good kisser and leave it at that.
For my second day of school I selected a beaded jersey blouson dress (black, of course) - it was almost as sexy as the dress I wore the previous day, but much more in compliance with the dress code. I didn't want to be seen as too much of a rebel my first week - it was enough just to be seen as the sexiest girl in the freshman class. I also found the boots were a tad warm for the summer, so I decided on the black Manolo Blahnik "chaos cuff" sandals. There was something especially naughty about wearing a $750 pair of shoes to public school where many students' entire wardrobes cost less.
http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/xscape-beaded-jersey-blouson-dress/3861443?origi n=category-personalizedsort&contextualcategoryid=0&fashionColor=&resultback= 4120
Today I would be walking the gauntlet of little boys gawking at me and trying to not be seen taking pictures (those fortunate to have cell phones.)
Someday it might get annoying, but for now it was still thrilling to know I
was inspiring lust in so many helpless males with the simple act of being myself as I strutted past them. It's why I asked Donna to drop me off so far from the entrance.
I hadn't bothered to carry a book bag home with me. The assignments we were
given the first day were all fluff, and I knew any "reading assignments" I had could easily be knocked out first period in homeroom. I knew that when I did need to take a book bag home, there would be no shortage of young gentlemen offering to carry it for me.
One thing that sucks about being a teacher I suppose is all the extra duties they're assigned. Sometimes they have to monitor the cafeteria, and sometimes they have to monitor the entrances and exits at the beginning and end of the day. I guess they do other stuff too, like detention and football games, but I didn't have much experience in those areas in my former life. Today one of the teachers monitoring the entrance I was using to the Freshman wing was Mr Jacobson. Could my luck have been any better? He could be stern when he needed to be, and when he caught too boys trying to take pictures of "girls" (meaning "me") with their phones, he practically snatched them up one in each hand and spun them around for a stern lecture and confiscation of their phones. My protector. My knight in shining armor. My reason for not wearing anything too tight below the waist for fear a little bulge would give away my most important secret. To think this big strong authority figure was doing it all for me.
I had to remind myself I wasn't his damsel in distress (though I could certainly pretend to me if it made him feel special) -- I was the Evil Princess
and gallant knights like him were nothing more than victims to me. Still, he was a hottie, and a good kisser I suppose, and I'd have to remember to thank him later.
"No books, Miss Somerville?"
It was Mr Jacobson, and I'd just been busted. He knew I was in his class. He knew he gave his classes a reading assignment. He knew I hadn't bothered to take a book home to do my assignment. How do I play it? Forgot to take book home? Took it home and forgot to bring it to school? I could see problems with both those approaches. There was always the honest approach, that I intended to do my assignment first period in homeroom. Since becoming Erica I'd gotten good at making up plausible lies on the spot, but Mr Jacobson had this strange effect on me. There was no denying I was crushing on him and it took all my willpower not to let it show. I started out wanting to be his favorite student, but now I probably insulted him by blowing off his first assignment. Even though it was fluff, even thought it was probably some stupid "why study history?" introduction to some stupid textbook designed for dummies, I didn't do the assignment.
Stopped at the bottom of the series of five steps leading up to the building entrance (he was on the third step looking down at me, making me wish I'd worn something to show a little more cleavage) I smiled up at him. "I already read it yesterday, in Algebra class."
I hoped he wouldn't ask me any specifics.
"You read it all in 15 minutes? You should have been paying attention to your Algebra teacher."
"Mr Gunderson?" My tone said the rest without having to say the words: Are you serious? My tone wasn't entirely disrespectful, just a little more familiar than it should have been. A student implying to a teacher that one of his fellow teachers was less than competent to teach, not deserving of my time or respect. Now it was Eric Jacobson who was on the spot, and I was glad to see I hadn't lost my touch. He was trying to suppress a smile - he couldn't let me know he agreed with my assessment of his fellow faculty member. "In the future, if I ever find out you're doing history homework in another class, your final grade in my class will drop an entire letter grade. Do you understand, Miss Somerville?"
He was so cute, trying to look stern with me. I wanted to ask how many other freshman girls' names he bothered to remember. Instead, I let it slide ... I think we both knew that round was a draw. I gave him a sexy little pout and said "yes sir" then wiggled my way through the crowd to my locker, then to homeroom. A boy I'd never spoken to was waiting by my locker to be available to carry my books. I didn't bother to ask his name.
Freckles was both overjoyed and terribly nervous as I sat next to her. She didn't show her emotions that readily, but I could certainly tell. She watched in fascination as I read my history assignment in homeroom while doing my nails and was rather rude to the first few guys who tried to talk to me. Then I turned to her and told her to keep the boys from bothering me, and I might let her do give me a pedicure someday soon.
"Leave her alone, can't you see she's busy" my mousy little freckled admirer would say to them, trying to sound stern in a voice that was meant only for submission. It was all I could do to keep from laughing at her. The teacher barely noticed any of us, as he seemed busy preparing for the classes he would teach later in the day. I was glad I had Mrs Watkins for Biology. Mr Collins looked like the type who would always be a step behind and I doubt I'd even be able to stay awake in his class.
A quick perusal of my other books, and I was sure I'd be at the head of any
class I had that day except for the most diehard of ass-kissers. When I was done, I read over the history assignment again. Nobody was going to be better than me in that class. If anyone even pretended they might provide me with competition for Mr Jacobson's attention, I would crush them.
What can I say? I'm an Evil Princess.
The same boy carried my bag to my second period class, even though he wasn't in that class. I didn't bother to ask his name, but he told me anyway. Mike something. Like I fucking cared. "Whatever" I said, taking my bag from him and disappearing into the classroom. It would be interesting to see if he offered again.
The first full day of Public Speaking was taken up by the "impromptu" introductions by that majority of the class that didn't have time to introduce themselves the first day. That was followed by a tirade from Mr Jones about how they should have anticipated continuing the introductions and they should have had better ideas regarding what they would say. As boring as it may seem, I was actually taking notes on things each student said that might be useful to me later. Favorite hobbies. Parents' occupations. Things like that I had no immediate use for, but who knows....
Anyway, I was pretty sure Mr Jones could help me be a better impromptu speaker, a better debater, a better Erica. I think I might become his favorite student, too.
The boy was there again. What did I say his name was? Mike something? Yeah,
whatever. Apparently his class was some distance away and he'd run some distance to be there as I was walking out the door. I'd have to make sure next class I handed the bag off to someone else before he could get it so it would be a wasted trip for him.
Taking my "usual" seat in Biology class, Bobby (remember him, the teacher's
nephew?) walked past me discretely handing me a note as he went to take a seat on the far side of the room.
"Dear Erica, Aunt Carole talked to my mom about me sitting next to you and they both told me I had to sit across the room from you. They didn't say anything about lunch though. Can we sit together at lunch? Please? yours truly, Robert"
Hmmm, this could be interesting. I turned to look across the room at him as
he eagerly awaited some sign from me. I then turned his note over and made sure he could see me writing something on it. Then I folded it and sealed it with a kiss... my lips leaving an impression in coral pink for little Bobby to cherish forever. Then I winked his answer, sure he would understand it was an invitation to sit with me at lunch, and mouthed the word "yogurt" for me. He nodded. He would go through line and get my yogurt while I held his seat for him beside me.
I guess he'll do for a boyfriend for a few days while I figure a way to fuck with Aunt Carole's mind and career. Even though I had another boy volunteering to do all my work for me, I also decided I should pay attention in class and not give Aunt Carole any ammunition to use against me.
As soon as class was over, Bobby and I were careful to not look at one another and certainly not to be seen leaving together. I handed my bag to whats-his-name and told him to have it at Room 117 before my next class, then strutted toward the cafeteria while he took a different longer route. That was entirely fitting that he would be the one that should hurry, even though I had no job except to sit and look pretty and fend off advances from other boys.
But, there was a glitch. Ms Peterson (Aunt Carole) was on cafeteria duty. She continued to just give me dirty looks while making her rounds reminding students to be quieter and clean up their messes. Poor Bobby wasn't sure what to do, but his lust for me trumped fear of Aunt Carole and Mom, so he came and sat by me, handing me my yogurt and spoon. Immediately, Ms Peterson marched over to where we were sitting and told him to move to another table. I wasn't sure if she could do that legally, but I wasn't ready to challenge her yet. Then she did the most amazing thing. She reached down and picked up MY yogurt and shook it in front of him. "Did you pay for this?" she demanded to know. It almost sounded like she was accusing him of stealing, but I knew what she was asking ... she wanted to know if he bought it for me with his own money. But poor Bobby was too frightened and confused and answered "yes ma'am." She again told him to find another place to sit and told me if I wanted to eat I'd have to wait in line like everyone else.
She was causing quite a scene and now I knew that in her unsettled state she'd already made her first mistake. (Well, her second mistake, actually .. the first was to try to come between me and something I decided should be mine.) Poor Bobby got up and dumped his tray then left the cafeteria without eating a bite. Perfect. I got up and marched straight to the principal's office.
After a suitable amount of pouting and playing innocent, which Mr Fielding the Assistant Principal responsible for the Freshman class may or may not have bought, it was decided that both Bobby and I were denied the opportunity to eat by a teacher, Ms Peterson, who threw away the food we had legitimately paid for. Therefore, someone from the cafeteria would bring two trays of food to the conference room next to the principal's office so Bobby and I could have lunch. Only now, we would be sitting together undisturbed, even unobserved by anyone.
Finally I was able to give him the note I wrote earlier: "Lots of boys wanna be my boyfriend. What are you willing to do that they won't?" Maybe a little dangerous putting it in writing, but then again I could claim I never intended for my perspective boyfriend to do anything illegal. His response, typical for the hormone-addled brain of a 14 year old boy, was "anything".
It was probably his first hand job. Even if it wasn't, I'm pretty sure it had to be the first time he came while eating lunch in the principal's conference room.
I caught most of it in a napkin which I folded up and handed to Bobby. "Put
this in your pocket and give it to me at the end of school, okay?" In his helpless post-orgasm state all he could do is nod and comply. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and got up to leave, not caring what happened to him or the tray.
My atypical lunch schedule meant I was late for my next class (excused, of course) - and that meant missing my appointment with the boy with my book bag. Now I would have to sit through half of Biology class without my textbook or notebook. Of course there was that boy who volunteered the first day to help me, so he assured Mrs Watkins he'd take good notes for me. He appeared to be bragging that he was the one I'd already picked for a study partner. Not having a textbook to follow along in gave me the perfect excuse to stare at the beautiful Mrs Watkins the entire class period -- well, the half I attended anyway. Every time she glanced my way to find I was staring at her, her eyes darted away immediately. It was quite empowering for me, and I'm pretty sure she was feeling quite unnerved by the end of class.
I wondered if Mr Watkins was good in bed. It might make a difference.
The guy with my backpack (fuck, I wish I could remember his name) was smart
enough to check my schedule and was waiting for me outside History class at the appropriate time. He tried to ask where I was last period and I just took the bag saying he should mind his own business. Yes, it was rude, but I wasn't worried about having to be nice to him. Some boys are just naturally submissive and want to be abused. He was clearly one of them, because if it was just kissing or fondling boobs he wanted he might have decided not to put up with my abuse long before now.
Ahhh, and there he was ... waiting for me. Mr Jacobson. Eric. All the other
girls in class were acting even more silly than the previous day, all vying for his attention. That's why he would be drawn to me ... like a moth to a flame? Maybe. Come here, little moth. Walk toward the light ... says the Princess of Darkness. Come here, brave knight, and receive your reward.
Instead of giving him the Mrs Watkins treatment, it was almost like I didn't know he existed. Of course I was respectful, taking notes and asking the occasional question, but I made sure our eyes never met. If he had a little
thing for me -- and yeah, I know I'm only 14, but a girl can dream can't she? -- if he had a little thing for me, never making eye contact with him should begin to build it into an obsession.
On our second day of class, I didn't even bother glancing his direction as I left the classroom at the end of the period.
Algebra. What nice thing can be said about a subject I'm so not interested in, being taught by a teacher who is so eccentric that NASA keeps a file on him as a possible alien life form? The only thing that could possibly get me through this (emotionally, I'm sure I could squeak by academically) is having Freckles there to fuck with. I finally found out her name is Grace. Poor thing. It just gets better and better doesn't it? I tell her she's cute - in a quirky sort of way - and that really appeals to me. I tell her I'm glad she's not into guys. She might be, I never asked, but now she's sort of committed to not being into guys if she wants to be with me. I actually wish we had more time to talk before (or during) class, because I would love to have as much ammunition to use against her as possible. Not that I don't like her, I just like to keep my options open. After all, she is a loser, and you know what pretty girls like me enjoy doing with losers.
"Hey Grace, what are you doing after school?" Herman (what we called Mr Gunderson behind his back) was helping another student so it gave us a chance for a quick conversation.
"I have to go to work."
"Work?" I said a little too loud, then toned it down. "You have a job?"
She shrugged ... "Sort of, it's a family business."
"That is so cool! What is it?" I pretended it was "cool" for a 14 year old to have to go to work after school ... so deliciously ironic since girls like me can have so much more than she'll ever have and we don't have to work at all for it.
"Catering" was her response, and before she could say any more Herman turned his attention back to the class as a whole. We wouldn't get another chance to talk until the end of the period, when we both had other places to be.
Herman then announced in his own unique way that each student in his class will have to do a different set of problems for homework, to prevent "sharing" of answers. Well, Freckles, thanks so much for volunteering to help.
"So, it is okay if I come hang out with you at work sometime?"
The look in poor Freckle's eyes said the answer was obviously no -- that when she was at work she was expected to work and didn't need any distractions like friends hanging out. But she didn't say no. "I .. I'll have to see" she said nervously, unable to look me in the eye as she responded. Then she gathered up her things quickly saying "I'll email you the answers to your homework problems. It'll probably be real late." and with that she rushed off to her last period class.
Imagine that. She has to work late to help the family survive, yet she's going to find time to do my homework for me. Won't she make an adorable pet?
"Somerville, right?"
"Yes, Coach."
In this class, I wasn't Erica the teen temptress, leaving a trail of broken
hearts behind me everywhere I went. I was Somerville - perspective member of the girls Freshman basketball team. It was probably a good thing for me to (a) not have to be Erica every waking moment of my day, and (b) be challenged in a way that I can't get whatever I want by being sexy or charming.
"If you wanna go out for basketball, those nails are gonna have to go."
I looked at my hands and frowned ... god, they were so beautiful and elegant and sexy and .... a bit too long for basketball. It was a rule or something. I gave the coach a little smile and said "Yes, Coach."
"So, you still wanna go out for basketball, princess?" That was some girl I'd never even noticed before standing next to me. She didn't sound like she
liked me very much. I probably caused her boyfriend's little dick to get hard for me and not her. It took only a moment to decide how to play it.
"Thinking about it. What do you think my chances are?"
"Slim and none, princess." She put a bit too much emphasis on that last word. "Even if your parents buy your way onto the team, no coach in his right mind would let you play." I guess she figured I was too pretty to be competent at too many things. She'd never seen me play.
"How about a wager then?"
"Fine. What?"
"Your boyfriend."
"Huh?"
"You have a boyfriend, don't you? If I get on the team and start in at least five games, I steal your boyfriend. If I don't, then I leave him alone."
"YOU BITCH" ... oops, that was a little too loud. Actually, it was a lot too loud, and Miss Anderson (thanks coach, I didn't have a clue who she was) spent the next few minutes running laps around the basketball court while I
demonstrated my dribbling and passing offense. Thank goodness for sports bras.
"Okay Somerville, have those nails trimmed next week .. we're gonna start working on defense and I don't want you clawing nobody to death on my court."
Oh yeah, I was gonna be on the team. Won't Daddy be proud of his little princess!
When I got home from school, the workers were just finishing up in the back
yard. Donna was having a concrete pad put in - sort of a large extension to the patio - with a basketball goal at the far end. Isn't she wonderful? I ran out to draw a heart in the wet concrete with her initials and mine.