Wanting to be Wanted

A My College Years story

INTRODUCTION

This story is set in my freshman year.

I had left my home town for the first time to go to college. I was still in state -- my parents aren't wealthy -- but nevertheless nearly three hundred miles from where I had grown up and most people I knew.

It had been a nightmare finding accommodation. But luckily my Dad had a good friend who lived in the city where my college was located. He had kindly offered me a room in the house he inhabited alone, his wife having died a few years earlier.

His name is David and he became both a father figure and mentor for me. David will play a major part later in this story. But my tale starts with another guy. It starts with...

-- -- --

PART I -- ROB

I sat cross-legged on my bed, eyes still blurry and sore from sobbing. I dabbed my face and blew my nose and then -- as was my custom -- tried to work my problems through by writing. I unclasped my journal and started a new entry.

November 18

It's four days since my eighteenth birthday. I'm a woman now, right? Why do I still feel like a little girl? More to the point, why do I still look the way I do?

I put down my pen and journal and picked up my hand mirror. I gazed at my tear-stained and puffy-eyed face. In my opinion, it was a young face. Why? Was it the freckles? Was it the slight hint of puppy fat that seemed resistant to any exercise I did? Was it the eyes that seemed too big for the rest of my face, Disney eyes? I pushed back the strands of dark blonde hair that constantly wandered across my face; maybe trying to form a barrier between me and an unappreciative world.

Was it the roundness, the lack of more mature sculpting, when would I get cheek bones? I concluded -- not for the first time -- that it was the whole package. I was 18, but, to me at least, my face didn't seem too different to that of the girl that had first bought the same mirror back home years ago.

But my worries weren't just my face. I turned the latch on my door and stood in front of my full-length mirror. 5'2" if I stretched a bit, 5'1" if I was more honest, then not everyone is statuesque. I undid my pajama pants and slid them off. I couldn't really complain about my legs. Maybe they were a bit on the skinny side, obviously they weren't the longest, but they were in proportion at least. No my legs were OK.

I pulled my T-shirt up above my panties. While running hadn't slimmed my face, my stomach was pleasingly taut, with maybe just a slight hint of roundness about my belly button. Not too bad either I guess.

Clasping the scrunched-up T-shirt to me, I turned and looked over my shoulder at my butt. Well baby definitely didn't have back. My ass cheeks weren't pneumatic, but at least they were pert and a little rounded. I bent forward slightly, emphasizing my modest curves. Well it might not be the sort of ass I wanted, but at least it didn't look like a boy's butt.

Self-consciously I pulled my panties down and let them fall. I guess my skin was OK, my butt cheeks were pale, with a hint of pink, not perfectly tanned like the skin of most of my friends. But that was OK as well.

I turned round again and looked at my mound. We were back in problem territory. It gleamed as pinkish pale as my butt and was close to hairless. I grimaced. I knew friends who regularly paid good money to be waxed as bald as me. But that was a choice. I was abnormally downy, almost hairless, two strokes with a razor and I was smooth. The Specialist had said I was otherwise healthy and had no related symptoms, so that was that. On the plus side, I didn't have to shave my legs or armpits very frequently, so every cloud... I guess my pussy was just that way, but it made me feel younger than I was, I didn't feel entirely like a real woman.

I sighed. The worst was to come. I lifted my T-shirt over my head and stood naked in front of the mirror. I didn't wear a bra, there was really no point. I surveyed my breasts. If breasts you could call them. There was just the hint of swelling, a slight curve outwards to my pink and puffy nipples.

I'm not sure if there was even a bra size for me; double A maybe. All I wanted was normal-sized breasts, They didn't have to be the C cups that Noemi Jones at college accentuated with tight and plunging tops, drawing longing looks from many of the boys, No, B, or even just proper A, cups would do me fine. Just something more substantial than my current flatness.

I looked at myself and felt the hot prick of tears starting again. My young for my age face, perched above a young for my age body, with an 18 year old trapped inside and raging to get out. Why would any boy look at me twice, let alone want to fuck me, let alone want to take my virginity; something that seemed way overdue happening at my age.

Noemi Jones with her hateful C cups had fucked two boys already and given hand- or blowjobs to several others. She was known as Easy Noemi for a good reason.

The tears rolled down my cheeks and, miserably, I got dressed again. I picked up my journal, wrote a few more sad thoughts about my disappointing appearance, turned off the nightstand light and lay down on my back.

Partly from habit, partly for comfort, I slipped a hand between my pajamas and panties and softly stroked my pussy through the thin cotton. It felt nice. I closed my eyes and imagined Rob lying between my legs. Rob with his almost handsome face and athletic shoulders. Mmm...

Rob took Calculus 101 with me, plus sadly fifty other students; how could little Em stand out in that group? Rob was on some college team or other and had the bearing of someone who was, unlike me, comfortable with his own body.

I wriggled out of my PJs and panties and spread my legs a little more, raising my knees to better accommodate my imaginary Rob. My fingers traced little hot circles round my clit in parallel to Rob's tongue. I dipped my fingers shallowly into my increasingly wet opening, while Rob did the same.

Closing my eyes, I imagined kneeling in front of Rob as he pulled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans. My fingers dipped deeper and circled more urgently as I thought about gripping his swelling cock in my hands and guiding it into my open mouth. He tasted good and I could feel him hardening more as my lips slid up and down his shaft and my tongue alternately caressed his glans.

I reached down with my other hand and eased the flesh up, exposing my clit. I licked my fingers and rubbed saliva over it, moving faster and more firmly as Rob held my head and began to slide in and out of my mouth. I felt the tip of his cock push into my throat and out again. I rubbed my clit harder as Rob fucked my mouth faster and deeper.

I grabbed his ass and pulled him to me, his balls hitting my chin as his cock stretched my throat. I fucked my now sopping opening with two fingers and rubbed my clit hard. As Rob face-fucked me, his head lolled back, eyes tight shut, and he moaned. I bit my lip and my hands moved more frantically as I began to feel a warm tingle turn into a hot throb between my legs, surging up into my chest.

Rob's cock began to twitch in my mouth and he groaned. I pushed the soles of my feet together, clenched my ass and arched my back as a powerful orgasm shuddered through me, just as Rob also erupted, squirting warm cum down my throat and into my stomach.

Eyes still closed I licked pussy juice off of my fingers as little tremors continued to race through my now limp body. As I came back to myself, I clicked on my lamp, opened my journal, and wrote down my latest sexual escapade.

Sometimes it was Rob, sometimes another boy. Sometimes Rob and another boy. I had written pages full of my fantasies. I felt tingly reliving the experience, but I was also tired. I turned onto my side, brought my knees up to my chest and fell asleep, feeling slightly better about the world.

-- -- --

November 19

So what a strange day. I got to speak with Rob, but I'm not sure how it went and I think his friend was pretty mean to me. This is what happened...

I was eating my lunch with Amy and Nadia, both kinda friends, but not close ones, I'd yet to make any good friends. Rob walked by carrying his tray accompanied by his friend Mike.

I wasn't too sure about Mike. Something about him said 'asshole' to me. I must have looked at Rob a bit too obviously, or for too long, because Mike piped up. "Hey, spinner! You checking out my man? You like what you see, spinner?"

He punched Rob's bicep, and continued his taunting. "Hey, Rob! Spinner's checking your butt out. Ain't that right, spinner?"

Rob looked embarrassed. "Hi, Em. Just ignore Mike. He's an asshole."

He'd spoken to me, used my name. Rob knew my name! "Oh, right. OK. I wasn't... I mean, I wouldn't... I mean not that you aren't... I mean... hi, Rob."

Mike interjected, leaning towards me and leering. "See, Rob, spinner's got it bad. She's dreaming of spinning on you right now. Ain't that right, spinner?"

Rob pulled his friend away from the table. "Her name is Emily." Again, he knew my name. "Quit with the spinner crap, Mike."

Mike guffawed. "But she's a spinner, Rob, if ever there was one. I bet if you look up spinner in the encyclopedia, they have a photo of her."

Turning again to me, Mike just wouldn't let it go. "I bet it's a picture if you in your high school uniform, isn't it, spinner? I'm sure it still fits you."

I tried to ignore him, but that just seemed to spur Mike on. "I bet Rob would like to see that photo. You'd like to see spinner in her little skirt and knee socks, right Rob?"

Rob was now pushing Mike away from us and towards the food counter. "Cut it out, Mike!"

As the pair left, Rob looked back at me over his shoulder. "I'm sorry about him. His mouth is bigger than his brain. Now I've gotta eat. Bye Em. Bye Amy. Bye Nad."

And they were gone. But had I imagined it? Was Rob blushing when Mike was going on about my school uniform? Maybe he was just flushed from the gym. But he did seem a bit flustered, even nervous, which wasn't something I had seen before. I kinda liked it. Maybe, just maybe...

-- -- --

I put down my pen and closed my journal. I had to look up what spinner meant. Reading the definition, part of me thought 'Mike really is an asshole,' but the bigger part of me got more than a little excited thinking about spinning on Rob's hard cock. Mmm...

Uniform. It was when Mike mentioned me in my school uniform that Rob seemed to get most embarrassed. I wonder...

I'm not sure why I had brought my uniform with me to college. Nostalgia maybe. But there it was, tucked in a cardboard box at the bottom of my closet.

I put the box on my bed. There was a gray, black, and white, plaid skirt; a white shirt that needed ironing; a red sweater; white knee-high socks; a pair of patent leather shoes; and even some white cotton panties. No bras, things hadn't changed too much on that front.

In a plastic envelope I also found some hairbands and bows. I knew I was petite, but surely I'd grown out of my high school clothes now I was at college. One way to find out, I went to turn the latch on my door.

Once I had stripped, I tried on the panties. Not a good start, maybe my butt wasn't a stand-out feature, but I had become at least a bit more curvy. Oh well, instead I found some current white panties, which were lacier and prettier anyway.

I had better luck with the socks and my skinny legs. Looking at myself in the mirror wearing just white panties and knee socks, I did look ridiculously young, but also surprisingly sexy, not something that I was used to saying about myself.

I began to feel a little tingly between my legs and sensed that my breathing had become deeper. Pulling my panties tight against my crotch, I could see a small darker patch on them where my pussy juice had begun to soak through the material.

I put on the shirt and buttoned it, yes it would need an iron. I struggled to get the skirt over my hips, narrow as they were, but there was a tape you could use to let out the waist, and moving this a couple of buttons along, all was well and I zipped up the back of it.

I was a little taller than when I last wore the garment, and what had been a fairly modest length skirt was now fairly immodest, without quite getting into Halloween sexy schoolgirl territory. I kinda liked it. I liked the expanse of skin between the tops of my socks and the bottom of my skirt. My legs looked cute.

The shoes still fitted as well. I pulled the sweater over my head and smoothed it down over my torso. It had been baggy and was now more fitted, but again I liked the look.

A couple more finishing touches. I pulled my dirty blonde hair into twin-tails, and held them in place with bands. Their bows were red, matching my sweater. I found my most scarlet lipstick and painted my lips in the school color as well.

If I was serious about what I had in mind, then maybe some mascara, eye shadow, and blusher would also work. Perhaps I should also buy some lollipops, I grinned at the idea. But even without these extra props, the effect was already pronounced.

Looking at schoolgirl Em in the mirror, two things struck me. First, how I could totally pull off wearing my high school clothes, indeed they looked much better on me now. Second, how the uniform counterintuitively made me somehow look and feel older. I felt more of a sexual being than in my normal teen clothes. For once in my life, I felt like I could be someone that a guy might want to fuck, maybe someone called Rob.

I lay on the bed on my tummy and felt obliged to flick my lower legs up towards the ceiling as I wrote about my feelings in my journal. I knew I was playing a role, being a living cliché, but it worked for me.

-- -- --

November 19

Who knew wearing my old school uniform would make me feel so sexy? Why do I feel suddenly more confident about my body? Am I embracing my little girl looks and melding them with my 18 year old desires? Is this a fantasy, or do I just have a nasty kink?

Speaking of nasty kinks, my panties were now dripping and what was under them was demanding my attention. This felt like an occasion when my fingers would not be enough. I wriggled out of my panties, leaving them on the bed, while I went to find what I needed.

I pulled out a special shoebox from my closet and rummaged under the shoes and tissue paper, locating my vibrator. I had spent a bit of money on it. It was eight inches long, though I normally restricted myself to only part of its length.

It was flesh-colored, veined, realistic (as far as this virgin could tell) and slightly flexible, with an underlying firmness. It also had a powerful multi-speed motor. It was called Rob, for obvious reasons, and I loved it deeply; in every sense of the phrase.

I knelt in front of my mirror and at right angles to it. I adjusted my position, so that when I held 'Rob' in front of my face, its base was outside the frame and -- if you had a bit of imagination -- looked like it belonged to a guy standing there.

Eyes squinting right, I licked the tip of Rob. Then I enveloped its head with my slutty scarlet lips and eased the shaft further into my mouth. I had done this many times before, but never had I felt as turned on as my faux schoolgirl self was today. I felt trembly and achy at the same time.

Abandoning my -- not entirely convincing -- trompe-l'œil, I turned to face the mirror and bowed my head to suck on Rob which I now held vertically, while raising my big eyes to look in the glass. It was a pleasing effect and I took one hand off of Rob and, lifting up the front of my skirt, began to play with my naked pussy.

I tilted Rob closer to the horizontal and began to slide it in and out of my mouth. I normally couldn't take more than half of it without gagging, but today I was so turned on that I managed a couple of inches more. The sight of me in uniform sucking on a big cock was getting me more excited than anything I could recall. I gulped as I face-fucked myself and began to twitch as my fingers rubbed my clit and teased my dripping and throbbing hole.

Enough foreplay Rob, I want you to fuck me. I pulled the mirror to the foot of the bed so I could see myself. Usually I'd start with a low hum and work up to full speed as my excitement mounted.

Today I turned Rob up to 11, lay back on the bed, and plunged it deep into my soaking wet pussy. I was already close to cumming and, instead of thrusting in and out, I pushed Rob in as deep as it would go and held it there buzzing at some stupidly high frequency, sending palpitations through my body. Palpitations that grew and grew and became unbearable.

I knew David was in the house, something I was now wishing I had thought about sooner. I wanted to scream, but that didn't seem so good an idea. I grabbed my discarded, wet panties and shoved them in my mouth.

My nostrils were filled with the smell of my pussy and, as I bit down on the cloth, I tasted my own juices. I saw myself in the mirror, writhing while impaled on a cock and gagged with my own panties, before closing my eyes, clenching my muscles, ramming Rob even deeper into my pussy, and having massive fireworks explode in me as a shuddering orgasm rushed through my body with my panties muffling my moans and cries; at least I hoped so.

The waves of pleasure were deeper and went on longer than I had ever experienced before, but eventually abated. I lay panting, my mouth and pussy both still full and my body weak and pulsating gently.

I eased Rob out from my pussy, took the panties from my mouth, and greedily licked and sucked the creamy residue off of the shaft of the vibrator. Dipping my fingers into my vagina to eat more of it, feeling like the cat that had got its own cream.

Still in my uniform, I related the experience to my journal, before showering, changing into my night clothes, and carefully packing away my uniform. I felt that I would be wearing it again soon. I even had a plan, one that also featured the real life Rob, rather than his buzzy namesake.

I slept well that night.

-- -- --

November 20

So this is the plan dear journal. I'm going to take a chance that the vibe I got from Rob about uniforms is real. I can't exactly wear it out in public, but I could dress up in private. I could send Rob a selfie and ask him if he wanted to see my uniform in person.

It's a terrible risk, the photo could do the rounds at college, and my name might become 'Em the Slut.' But something tells me that won't happen. Anyway, I am obsessed enough about Rob to give it a go.

-- -- --

November 21

OK, let's be brave. It's time for operation Fuck Rob.

I put my pen down, closed my journal, and got changed. I toyed with the idea of fishnet stockings instead of socks, but decided to stick with the classics. I paid more attention to my make-up, but not too much, I still wanted the innocent look.

I also thought about going without panties for my photo shoot, but couldn't summon the courage. It was not as if I was playing it safe anyway, but maybe me in my school uniform would be a story that died down after a few weeks. Me and my naked pussy might be told and retold for years. I decided to compromise, I'd have a hint of white panties, but not of anything else.

I struck my best Instagram pose in the mirror. I raised my phone to the side with one hand and raised my skirt slightly with the other, just enough to make my white lacy panties visible in the photo and click. Several more clicks later I was happy. Now the hard bit.