Lustful Leanne

Bradley Cooper, ae 18, is oblivious to the fact that classmate Leanne Clark is smitten with him. After two long years, she decides to do something about it.

Looking back at the situation, it was amazing how naïve I was. Honestly, how could I not see what was going through the mind of that pretty classmate for those two years? How could I, Bradley Cooper, not notice that Leanne Clark had a thing for me? Yet, despite the clear signs, I was somehow oblivious to it all.

I’m not entirely sure when Leanne, a small but shapely girl, even began attending my high school. I’m fairly certain she was not in any of my classes during the 1978-79 academic year when I was in the ninth grade or even the following year. The first inkling I had of her presence was when she was in my geography class in 1980-81. We were assigned desks near each other because the teacher arranged the seating in alphabetical order. Leanne sat directly in front of me. I just thought she was unusually chatty when she would constantly turn around to ask me questions about the day’s lesson that did not truly need to be asked. Silly me.

I should have caught on when Leanne opted to sit at a desk beside or in front of me in classes where the teacher allowed us to sit wherever we wanted. I should have noticed she always instigated conversations with me, but never with any of the other nearby students.

Whenever she passed me in the hallway Leanne would wave and say, “Hello, Bradley!” Sure, numerous other people said hello to me all the time. In retrospect, Leanne’s way of greeting me sounded slightly different. It had more of an affectionate and playful quality than anyone else’s hello. Once, a friend named Jim Stanley was standing close enough to me to pick up on what I was missing. As soon as Leanne was out of earshot, Jim turned to me and totally surprised me by commenting, “Bradley, whoever that girl is, she wants to hop in the sack with you!”

I just laughed at the notion. “Oh, that’s just Leanne Clark,” I told Jim. “She’s a girl who is in a lot of my classes. She is just very friendly towards me, nothing more.”

“Trust my instincts on this, Bradley,” Jim insisted. “She wants you; I am certain of it. It’s puzzling, though. I don’t know why she would want you when she can have me—and I’m a much better catch.”

Even though Jim was mostly joking, he was probably right about the second part of what he said. I didn’t have an especially high opinion of myself as a girl magnet. I figured I was just an average-looking guy. Jim was more worldly and likely better looking than I was. Chasing females—and often catching them—was a big part of Jim’s persona. In contrast, I was a bit of a scholastic nerd. Instead of skirt-chasing as a hobby, I liked reading, watching historical documentaries, and following sports closely. Those quiet traits didn’t generally attract a lot of female admirers to me in my high school days. There was only one—and I was too blind to see her.

By the time I was in my fourth year of high school, I should have figured out Leanne’s desires. On the first day of Mr. Parker’s English class, Leanne watched me select a desk—and then she occupied the one directly in front of me. “Well, Bradley, we meet again,” she happily stated.

“Indeed, we do, Leanne,” I replied. “It wouldn’t be a normal English class for me without you being nearby.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you to say, Bradley,” Leanne said. “It really is.”

Mr. Parker’s twelfth-grade class was a combination English lit and creative writing course. The second part interested me the most. Each student had to create a folder of various types of original, written works. There were minimum requirements for poems, monologues, short stories, humorous anecdotes, and even the opening chapter of a novel. Mr. Parker would periodically collect them to examine what we were writing and give us feedback. Mine was easily the thickest of anyone’s in the class. One Friday Mr. Parker collected the folders of the five students in my row; he would examine them over the coming weekend. Knowing that my folder contained an abundance of work, he said to me, “Bradley, are there any particular pieces you want me to focus on?” I told him I had written an amusing optional piece about Sylvester the Cat and Tweety Bird from the Warner Brothers cartoons in which I defended Sylvester’s actions. I said I had also written part of the required novel chapter. The plot had a Hollywood movie being shot on a tropical island that was about to be hit by a massive hurricane.

On Monday Mr. Parker returned our folders and commented to the class, “I read some very good pieces over the weekend. Bradley, your apologia for Sylvester the Cat was especially creative. Your novel chapter shows promise, too—but you certainly don’t know anything about how Hollywood movies are made.”

Mr. Parker intended his remark as light-hearted criticism, but Leanne took offense at it! Without raising her hand, Leanne stood up and loudly blurted, “I bet Bradley’s novel chapter is wonderful. He’s the best writer in this class—which makes him the best writer in the entire school!”

I was not expecting that compliment, but apparently Mr. Parker did. While I whispered, “Thank you, Leanne!”, Mr. Parker said, “The Bradley Cooper Fan Club’s president has spoken!” The rest of the class laughed. Leanne turned red and sat down. Mr. Parker read my Sylvester piece aloud to conclude the class.

Seconds after the bell rang to end the period, Mr. Parker called me over to his desk. “Two things, Bradley. Number one: Will you be in class tomorrow?”

I thought that was a very odd inquiry. I said, “Yes. Tomorrow is a Tuesday. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be here?”

“No, I was just checking,” Mr. Parker said rather enigmatically.

“What’s the second thing you wanted to talk to me about?” I inquired.

“Oh, yes,” my teacher began. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this because it breaks with confidentiality, so just keep this between you and me: I didn’t refer to Leanne Clark as the president of your fan club solely because of the remark she made today. In her writing folder there is a very praiseful monologue about you! She thinks very highly of you, Bradley. From one man to another, you might want to act on this. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Aw, that’s just Leanne being her usual nice self,” I dismissively replied. “There’s nothing more to it than that.”

Mr. Parker smiled at me. “Bradley, I think you are wrong about Leanne…very wrong. I’m just trying to give you some friendly advice to help advance your love life.”

“Love life? What love life?” I responded. Then I thanked him for his concern.

Mr. Parker just laughed and said, “I suppose I ought not meddle in your private life. Remember, Bradley, make sure you attend class tomorrow!”

When the next day arrived, I sat in my desk behind Leanne, as usual. Mr. Parker made a dramatic appearance into the room. Behind him were two sharply dressed members of the local branch of the Royal Canadian Legion. They were in full uniform. It took me about five seconds to figure out what was happening. A few weeks earlier I had entered an essay contest in connection with Remembrance Day. It had completely slipped my mind. It was sponsored by the Legion and open to all students in my city. My mother had seen the contest advertised in the daily newspaper, and drew it to my attention. I hastily wrote my essay during the halftime of a football game I was watching on TV, but it must have been good enough for a prize!

When all the students had been seated, Mr. Parker said, “We obviously have visitors to the class today. I’ve been teaching for a long time, but this is a first for me.” He asked me to step to the front of the classroom. One of the Legion members announced that I had indeed won a prize in their essay-writing contest. I had come in second place for my age division and won $25. I was handed an envelope with a cheque inside it. I shook both Legion members’ hands, thanked them—and that was it. The ceremony didn’t last two minutes. That night, a portion of my essay appeared in the daily newspaper. That was a milestone as it was the first bit of creative writing of mine that had ever been published.

Another first happened as soon as I sat down in my desk. Leanne turned around in hers and hugged me—sort of. It was as close to a hug as one can get while separated by a desk. Leanne basically just squeezed my shoulders together. Mr. Parker noticed Leanne’s demonstration of great affection.

“That was a nice prize you just received, Bradley,” Mr. Parker joked, “and I’m not referring to the money.” He also had a tacit “I told you so” look on his face.

When the weather turned favorable that spring, I began playing tennis with a friend named Fred. He resided in an upscale neighborhood that had its own private tennis courts that were adjacent to a large swimming pool. One fairly warm Saturday in June, just after 12 noon, while Fred and I were warming up in the court located closest to the pool, I saw a familiar face. Leanne Clark was walking along the pool’s deck. However, she was far closer to the fence than she was to the pool. She was wearing white bikini bottoms. Her top was concealed by a bulky sweatshirt that had a UCLA logo on it. She looked at me, said her usual, “Hi, Bradley!”, smiled mischievously, and removed the sweatshirt. The white top of her bikini was barely containing a wonderful pair of luscious, sexy breasts. “Hi, Leanne!” I immediately shouted back. Incredibly, I had never noticed how well-proportioned Leanne Clark was. At school she had always dressed to conceal nature’s gifts. Today she was putting them prominently on display. “Holy smoke!” I muttered to myself.

Leanne spread a beach towel on the pool deck, positioned herself toward the tennis court, and settled herself in to watch Fred and I play in the sexiest way possible. When Fred and I came together at the net to gather the balls we had used in our warmup, Fred whispered to me. “We have one hell of a distraction!”

“I take it you mean lovely Leanne,” I said.

“You know her?” Fred asked me.

“Sure,” I replied. “That’s Leanne Clark. She’s in a lot of my classes at school. I didn’t know she lived in this neighborhood.”

“I didn’t know her name until you just told me. She lives about three houses away from here,” Fred informed me. “I’ve never seen her at the pool before—or dressed like that. Damn, she’s gorgeous. Bradley, if I even look at her, I’ll get hard as a rock. I wonder why she’s here.”

“I think I know,” I told Fred without elaborating further.

Fate intervened positively. We only got about 15 minutes' worth of tennis in when Fred’s younger brother appeared to tell Fred he must come home. He had to attend a family function—an aunt’s birthday party. “I thought that was next Saturday!” Fred exclaimed. Then he looked at me. “Sorry, Bradley. I have to leave. This can’t be helped. You can stay on the court if you want. Nobody will care that you don’t live in the neighborhood.” Fred then collected his tennis paraphernalia and promptly left.

I hit about a dozen practice serves to an invisible opponent when I heard Leanne’s voice. “Come here, Bradley,” she ordered. She spoke more sternly than usual. Leanne was still lying sexily on her beach towel.

I approached her. Before I could say a word, Leanne stood up to give me a full view of her. She was magnificent. She said, “Bradley Cooper, do I have to be completely naked for you to take an interest in me? You have two choices: You can stay here and hit tennis balls by yourself or you can accompany me back to my house and we can fuck like alley cats. No one besides us will be there for the next six hours. The choice is all yours.”

I reacted like any normal male would. It took me about three seconds to announce, “After great consideration, Leanne, I choose Option #2! Let’s go!”

There was no gate directly linking the pool and the tennis courts, so we each had to use a separate exit. We both literally ran to a spot near the curb. Apart from that sort-of hug on the day I won the $25, Leanne and I had never had physical contact before. That instantly changed. We charged at one another. Leanne leapt into my arms. (Being only 5’4”, she had to, as I was a smidgen above six feet tall.)

We were both 18 years old that day. After a very long, romantic and passionate kiss, it occurred to me I had wasted at least two years of what could have been wonderful intimacy with this beautiful girl. I sincerely told Leanne, “I apologize for being so supremely stupid, my dear. We should have been together two years ago. I’ve been an idiot.”

“Yes, you have, Bradley! Thanks for finally realizing it. We graduate soon. Who knows where we’ll each be next year at this time. I figured I had to make my feelings known to you. You’re so smart in some ways, but so clueless in others.”

“Guilty!” I admitted. “By the way, that was a great visual way to make your feelings known to me. You look spectacular in that white bikini! Leanne, you should be a professional swimsuit model. Seriously.”

Leanne blushed slightly, which was an endearing trait. Then she softly asked me, “Is that the only reason you chose Option #2, Bradley?”

“Oh, heck no, Leanne. You’re the nicest and friendliest girl in school, without a doubt. You are a real sweetheart. But I have to be honest with you…the bikini doesn’t hurt.”

We half-jogged and half-walked the short distance to her house. It was a beautiful, luxurious home. Obviously, Leanne’s parents were well-to-do. Leanne took my hand and led me to her bedroom. We sat down on her unmade bed. “I didn’t bother to make my bed this morning. I figured there was no point. I hoped I was going to use it with you this afternoon.”

“You are a very practical girl, Leanne,” I stated. After a slight pause I noticed I was sweaty from my 15 minutes of tennis and my rush to accompany this sexy creature to her boudoir.

“This is going to make me sound like a fool, but may I use the shower before we begin? I’m a bit sweaty from playing tennis.”

“Only if I shower with you!” Leanne insisted.

“You drive a hard bargain, Leanne,” I kidded her. “I guess that would be okay.”

“It’s not going to be okay, Bradley. It’s going to be fabulous!”

Beside Leanne’s bedroom was a large bathroom that featured a big walk-in shower. As I began to take off my tennis wear, I couldn’t help but notice that Leanne had already disrobed. I stopped and gawked at her for a second. “Damn! Look what I’ve been missing for the past two years!” I said aloud.

Leanne helped me remove my tennis shorts and briefs. “That’s not quite true, Bradley. You’re seeing the 18-year-old version of me. I’m a bit of a late bloomer. I wasn’t as busty even as a 17-year-old. It must be the yogurt and other health foods I’ve been eating during the past year.”

“Let’s hear it for yogurt!” I shouted.

Before we even stepped into the shower, Leanne and I kissed…and kissed…and kissed some more. I had to lift her off her feet, but I didn’t mind. The sensation of her beautiful breasts rubbing against my chest got me fully aroused in a hurry. She also had a terrific bum—and I told her so.

Finally, I had the greatest shower of my young life because I had the greatest shower companion. We washed each other with soapy sponges, pleasuring each other’s private parts over and over again. Leanne eventually knelt to perform fellatio—not that my dick wasn’t already as hard as a diamond. “You have a great penis, Bradley,” Leanne proclaimed. I just want to suck on it all day while I play with your balls. Do you mind?”

“If that’s a serious question, you’re as big an idiot as I am, Leanne!”

Leanne just smiled and gave me a terrific blowjob. Somehow, I maintained enough control over myself to lift Leanne off the wet shower floor so I could impale her wet pussy with the body part of mine she most enjoyed. She wrapped her arms around me. We kissed as I thrusted my manhood deep inside her vagina. Then I let loose with a fabulous orgasm. Leanne’s body approved too. She climaxed as well.

My arms eventually grew tired of holding my petite lover, so I set her down. We stared at each other, totally enamored, not quite knowing what to say.

I finally broke the silence. “The last time I shared a shower with a girl I was three years old. So was my cousin. This was better, Leanne. Far better.”

We dried ourselves off. I especially enjoyed toweling every inch of Leanne’s body, from her brown tresses to her little toes. She was still wrapped in a fluffy towel when I picked her up and carried her to her bed. “The fuck I gave you in the shower was just a prelude, my dear. Now let’s do some serious screwing!” I paused and added sheepishly, “Assuming that’s okay with you.”

“Uh…yeah,” she said. “I think that was the whole idea of why I went to the pool today. I saw you go to the tennis court and said to myself, “Leanne, today is the day when you need to be seriously screwed by Bradley Cooper.”

“I aim to please!” I happily declared and proceeded on my assigned task.

I began by enjoying what nature provided. I enthusiastically fondled and sucked on Leanne’s beautiful rack until I was once again ready for intercourse. (That biological achievement took about 60 seconds, but I spent far more time enjoying Leanne’s goodies.) I also gave her pussy a good licking as a warmup for more penetration. I mounted Leanne and slowly inserted my dick into her cunt. Unlike the nookie in the shower, I used slow, long strokes to please her and me. As my second orgasm approached, I politely asked my bedmate for permission to pull out and come on her prominent boobs.

“Bradley, I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t,” she told me. What a girl I had here!

A few seconds later her tits were covered in a sexy layer of sticky, white goo. I was exhausted.

“What a shame I wasted so much energy playing tennis with Fred for 15 minutes,” I joked.

“Bradley, you have a great future ahead of you as a comedy writer,” Leanne told me as we caught our breath and embraced.

We spent the next three hours in bed, hugging kissing, chatting, and fucking some more. My third ejaculation occurred with Leanne on top, riding me with great gusto until I fired the last of my ammo.

“Thank you, Leanne,” I said. “This has been a wonderful afternoon of fucking. If I tried to come again, I think I’d seriously damage my equipment.”

“Don’t do that, Bradley!” she cautioned me. “We have two wasted years of celibacy to make up for. Let’s wait a couple of days and do exactly the same thing all over again when you are fully recovered.”

“You’re a doll, Leanne,” I told her. “An absolute doll who is a terrific sex partner.”

After we both got dressed (and kissed for another 15 minutes), Leanne asked me what my plans were for the rest of the day.

“Well, first I have to drive home and explain to my parents why my hour of tennis with Fred took all afternoon. I may have deprived them of their car. Secondly, I have to buy a birthday card.”

“Who is the card for?” Leanne asked me.

“It’s for Fred’s aunt. If it wasn’t for her birthday party today, I’d have been playing tennis this afternoon instead of making love to you. It’s the least I can do to thank her.”