Memories of Sonia

I was in the library at a computer because there was something I wanted to do. Something which in truth I'd been feeling indignant about ever since school.

Dear Sonia,

I typed with rather unsteady fingers, tapping it all out fast and clumsily before my courage failed.

This is to give you a chance to say sorry for how you behaved. I remember you as the biggest tease at our school. You were always flaunting your legs and your figure in front of me, especially the way you used to wear your school uniform. Then, whenever I acted on this provocation and told you how hot and bothered you were making me, you'd put your nose in the air and start behaving as if I wasn't good enough for you.

Maybe it was just fun to you, but I want you to know how badly this hurt my confidence. Sometimes boys can be just as vulnerable as girls at that age.

I slumped back in my seat, weak after the effort of all that.

It had been yesterday when I'd suddenly felt the urge to do this, while shyly stripping to my underwear in the changing room for PE. The sudden flush of shame that the other boys might see had brought Sonia right back to my mind. For just like a lot of pretty girls she'd not been interested in boys who wore underpants like mine, just proper boxers. Back at school, she'd talked about this preference so openly and so often in my hearing that it had made me shrivel up inside.

When I found that the even memory did so now, as all in an awkward haste I struggled to cover those embarrassing underpants before any boy had a chance to tease me about them, it struck me how little had changed. Since then I'd felt a real need to tell Sonia the way she'd behaved hadn't been OK then, and I still wasn't OK with it.

Reminding myself of that I hit "send" right away, making myself give it no more thought, because I knew fright would overcome me otherwise.

Next second, I was told Sonia had so set up her account so as to not accept messages from me!

Staring at the screen I felt about ready to cry, only for that to result in a sudden hot pang of indignation. Crying over Sonia yet again? That hadn't changed since school, and clearly nor had she!

All yesterday afternoon and all last night I'd not been able to stop myself picturing the girl she'd been. Now she surged into my mind again, wickedly. Dark blonde hair, bouncing in two big fulsome silky loops down by another pair of things that were big and bounced. I really did want to cry when I imagined those sweet teen-boobs cupped by the white fabric of her short-sleeved blouse. What was more, I knew I would if I thought about her skirt.

She'd been one of the girls who taught me how tantalizing a dark blue short pleated school skirt could be, how she could make me long to see her panties when she wore one. Sonia had had a way of making me feel like I almost could, but somehow she never quite showed them. Before that age I'd never known a girl could get the better of me in that cruel way.

Her hairstyle, the shape of her legs in stockings, her haughtiness, her long dark eyelashes...everything about her was crushing me down as I sat in my chair at the library.

I'd been right to accuse her of flaunting those legs. And of putting her nose in the air at me. Because that was just what she'd done today.

And at that thought, the tears finally began.