I let a man look up my school skirt (f) (exh)

Intro: Over Christmas I was having a clean out and found my old laptop from around six years ago. It has literally thousands of old photos from my teens and early 20’s (I’m now 28) which I started going through; they bought back a lot of memories. On impulse, I created this account and posted a couple of pics. Everyone’s been so nice and encouraging that it’s given me the fortitude to tell this story for the first time … to anyone.
Looking back, it was pretty dangerous, but I guess that’s what our teenage years are for. Hope you all enjoy.

I grew up in upper-middle class; both my parents worked and in high school I would catch the train to and from school. We lived near the end (or start) of the line and my school was something like 14 stations along, most of the way to the city. The trip would take around 30 minutes each way most days. Afternoons were crowded if I didn’t have football practice, and I usually stood up for most of the way home, but on the morning trip I always had a seat on account of it being the first stop back toward the city.

I went to a private school and wore the mandatory private-girls uniform – white button shirt, school tie, blazer in winter, skirt and knee-high socks. I was young and fit and while my chest was not particularly impressive (some things never change), I had pretty killer legs and would wear my skirt as high as I could to show them off. Some of us girls would fold the skirt waist band inside itself when off school grounds so the hem would sit mid-thigh.

Those who regularly commute would understand that after a while, you see the same faces day in day out, and an older guy maybe in his 40’s would often make small talk and ask me how I was, how school was going, comments about the weather and so on; we’ll call him Frank. Frank was a business man and often tapped away at his laptop during the trip usually one or two seats along, facing me. We would sometimes make eye contact and he’d smile, or I’d smile or we’d both smile. This was before EVERYONE rode staring at a smart phone so if you weren’t reading or working, you were looking around.

Allie, a classmate slept over on a Sunday night once and we caught the train to school together on Monday morning, skirts hiked up and all. Frank was sitting across the isle one row up and I gave him a little wave as we sat down. He smiled and waved back. Because Allie was next to the window and I was on the isle seat, I was mostly facing away from him talking; Allie was occasionally glancing over my shoulder as we rode. When we reached our station and got off, Allie straightaway starting teasing me about Frank. “Oh my God, did you see that guy checking you out? He was practically dribbling into his keyboard!”

I told Allie that I didn’t know what she was taking about, but I guess a part of me knew and actually liked that Frank was paying attention to me. I blew it off with Allie and changed the subject, my mind racing. I’d had plenty of attention from boys at school and from the junior teams at the football club I played for, but this was different; I’d never really acknowledged that older guys would find a teen like me attractive enough to “check out”.

Over the next couple of weeks, I started watching Frank more closely and sure enough, if I had wanted to I could have caught him staring at me with those hungry eyes a dozen times. I think something had changed, or was changing, because the more I caught him staring at me, the less he seemed to care. I would look up from my book and see him looking at me, I would look back, and then it was me who was breaking eye contact and blushing, feeling suddenly hot in my blazer. It felt to me as though it had become some sort of game of chicken, he was becoming more bold and was waiting for me to flinch.

He’d begun making comments about my appearance; “Your hair looks nice this morning”, “Your legs are very tanned” that sort of thing which now seems super creepy, but was flattering at the time. It felt to me like a dare, and I began sitting in the same group of four seats on the train, diagonally opposite him. One morning I took off my tie when I got dropped at the station, so I could unbutton my shirt to mid chest and pretend I was running late. I fumbled around with the Windsor knot for a few minutes before asking if he’d help me. Frank didn’t need asking twice and set his laptop aside. I knelt on the floor in front of him while he slowly and methodically began the routine he’d probably done a 1000 times for himself; left side short, right side long, the backs of his hands, surely with purpose, brushing my small breasts though my shirt. I looked up at him, heavy eye contact as he tied, close enough to smell his cologne.

He tied slowly and surely with hands that looked manly and strong. After he straightened the knot, he looked deeply into my eyes as he brushed the hair from the sides of my face “Beautiful” he said before quickly adding “perfect, prim and proper”, a correction that was a little too late. I understood in that moment that Allie had been right, but it make me feel mature and daring, warm in the bottom of my stomach; I liked it. If I had unzipped Frank kneeling before him at that moment, I’m 100% sure he wouldn’t have stopped me and damn the consequences.

I began thinking about Frank a lot, and we would almost always sit opposite one another. I would unnecessarily stretch pushing my elbows behind me to press out my developing chest, would stare at him while playing suggestively with my hair, and let him tie my tie a few more times in my final senior term, him getting a little more handsy each time, but it never went further.

That final term was drawing to an end, and before I knew it the final week before swot vac and exams had arrived. Frank was all over it and made enquires as to whether I’d be catching the train anymore. He looked genuinely gutted when I told him that my regular school career was done after this week, but I had plans for one last treat for Frank.

On the final day of school term, tradition decreed that seniors could come to school wearing whatever they wanted. For the boys, that usually meant jeans and a tee shirt of whatever brand was “hot” at the time. For girls, it was a more diverse mixture of clothes that would not look out of place in a dance club, variations of the official uniform, brand clothes, etc. On the final day, I was running late and almost missed the train, jumping through the closing doors of the last carriage just as they were closing. I made my way down the centre isle and found Frank, solemnly tapping away at his keyboard and plopped down into the seat diagonally opposite him in the same pod of four.

Frank looked up and did a double take, not recognising me at first; I’d applied some light makeup and spent time on my hair with Mum’s curling wand. Frank looked me up and down and few times as a smiled at him, and then slowly from the feet up. I was wearing my 8 hole Doc Marten boots, black socks, a maroon and black tartan skirt that sat just above the middle of my thigh and my white school shirt, unbuttoned to level with my breasts. I normally wore boy leg underwear to school but today chose my highest-cut white briefs. I slid down a little in my seat as I settled in, causing my skirt to ride up my legs. The hem of my skirt was now just below my underwear, but with my legs slightly apart and from Frank’s vantage point, he could see clearly, as evidenced by his eyes being locked to the top of my legs. I watched him watching me, feeling wanted, and placed my left foot on the seat opposite me and moved my right knee over ever so slightly, showing off my legs and giving him a better view. I casually looked out the window for a few minutes, occasionally glancing back at Frank, whose eyes were locked on my crotch. Frank’s laptop was on his lap, so I can’t be sure but the way he shifted around from time to time made me think he had an uncomfortable erection.

It only took a few stations before others started boarding and the carriage became more crowded, and my exhibitionism became less overt, but Frank’s eyes never stopped devouring my legs and body. I felt so hot and flushed, tingly. I’d masturbated occasionally but had never felt as horny as I did then.

Within 15 or 20 minutes it was all over, my station was coming up and I gathered my bag and headed for the door with a simple “Bye Frank”. I gave a little wave as I walked off the platform and the train pulled away, and never saw Frank again.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ru5rsq/i_let_a_man_look_up_my_school_skirt_f_exh