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That cloistered little suburb of our high school that was the concert band had its own marks of favour - playing the tuning note at the beginning of the class was one of those marks, and Sharon was regularly accorded the honour. Little by little my infatuation grew.It was 1978. I'll never forget the shirts she used to wear, the stripes accentuating her petite bust. The flared pants that climbed her long legs up to her gorgeous behind. Straight brown hair hanging past her shoulders. I watched her from my vantage in the back row, among the other trumpet players. Of course in time my mooning was noticed, and the guys in the brass section (and for some reason it was only guys, just as almost all the woodwinds were girls) started ribbing me. I could deal with that, as long as they never teased me within earshot of Sharon. I would die if a grade 11 worm like me were ever exposed as having a crush on a grade 12, and someone who was clearly a goddess to my hormone-addled brain.After all this. “Aaaaahhhh,” I said in bliss.My neighbor looked over as I stood there pissing, I gave her a smile then pushed my wet cock back into my jeans.I headed back inside just in time to hear the bathroom door open.“RAKESH!!” my sister shouted.I didn’t reply. I was still annoyed“RAKKEEESSSHHH!!” She shouted louder. “I forgot to get my towel, can you get me one?”I went up the stairs, grabbed a bath towel on the way and stood outside the bathroom door, my arm outstretched. “I have one here.”She poked her arm out and reached for“You can’t have it though,” I said, pulling my arm back.She popped her head out.“What do you mean? Why can’t I have it?”“I have no reason to give it to you. I mean, what will I get out of it?”“What do you want?”I just smirked at her. She got the idea a lot quicker than I expected.Sushma threw open the door and stood there, stark naked, water beaded on her body, her wet hair sticking on her shoulders and back. Her huge breasts wet and nipples hard. She put her hands on her.
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