Jasmine the Schoolgirl

Jasmine the Schoolgirl
by w0odwizard

DISCLAIMER: The author does not condone or indulge in sexual activities with minors. This story is fiction and the author does not intend to encourage any person to replicate any acts depicted herein.

First of all, I'd like to make a couple of things clear. Various bits of this next story have been changed to protect the (not so) innocent. I do not, nor have I ever, lived in the West Midlands, nor worked in a car factory. However, I did once get made redundant and I did live in a road with a secondary school in it. I did meet and go swimming with a fourteen year old Pakistani girl whose name wasn't Jasmine and she did go with me into the family changing room with the intention of losing her virginity.

The story is true, with the possible exception of the dialogue, which is as near as I can remember it. Allow me a little leeway, yes?

I don't think that most people would consider me a pervert. You know, a paedophile. Some guy that lurks outside school playgrounds or public parks, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting kid. But the experience I had last summer would cast me as just that sort of character, especially in the eyes of modern law. Let me fill you in on my background before I tell you the story of my fall into sexual disrepute and criminal depravity.

My house is one of those terraced, renovated Victorian jobs, in a small town in the West Midlands. For the benefit of those of you who may be wondering, the West Midlands of England. Birmingham, Wolverhampton, that sort of area. Comfortable, nice enough working class area and a reasonable place to bring up a family. The trouble is that when I moved in with my wife, about two years ago, one of the
neighbours got to know her a little bit too well, and they disappeared together one Wednesday afternoon in the middle of last summer!

Ten years we were married, then suddenly, bam, I'm a bachelor. Anyway, no wife, no family. Just me, the TV and the mortgage. So there I am, going to work, coming home, watching a movie, then go to bed with just my right hand for company. Week in, week out. What an existence. But hell, it pays the bills and I did get to go down the pub sometimes.

Then one morning, I find that the place I work, (big car manufacturing plant) has closed the gates, and there's a policeman standing there turning everyone away. A notice fastened to the gate states that employees of the factory should go to the local Job Centre, where we would find a 'special facility' to deal with us. Great. Another one of life's little triumphs.

So now its just get up, watch a movie, go to bed with my right hand.

One of the things most working guys never experience is the day time activity of their own street. When we're at work, there's a whole different world comes alive where we live. It came as something of a revelation to me to find that my quiet road became a hive of activity around eight o clock, twelve o clock, and four o clock. Cars coming and going by the dozen, kids on bicycles by the hundred and even more of them on foot. Yes, you've guessed it. Sparrowfield Road Secondary School.

Of course, I knew it was there, I'd seen it, but I had no idea just what an impact it made on the day time community. I also had no idea just what young gems of femininity frequented aforesaid establishment. At first I was quite shocked. Teenage girls, and even younger, parading around in short skirts (what is it about pleated skirts that make them so sexy?), tight white blouses, looking for all the world like young versions of Benny Hill's ‘Hill’s Angels’ (Or, more probably, are they an older version of these schoolgirls?) Mind you, the shock very soon gave way to a sort of mild interest, but nothing more than that.

Not until Jasmine appeared, that is.

Now, my front door opens almost straight out onto the street; just two metres of front garden, if you can call it that. I'd got up early for once, and had just opened the front door to bring in the solitary bottle of milk that appears on my doorstep as if by magic every morning, and there, walking slowly by, was a vision of loveliness that was just too wonderful to belong to this world.

Long, sleek black hair. Brown skin. A slim girlish figure; but one that had just got to the stage where it had become interesting. But the thing that made me forget to breathe was her face. I have never seen such a beautiful countenance as I did that morning. Fine sculpted features, a delicate nose, a hint of the orient about her eyes. Oh! and what eyes! Big black eyes. You know the sort of eyes I mean? Deep,
exquisite pools of liquid peace and femininity that can bring a mere male like me to his knees with just a single glance. So deep and full of exotic promise that you want to live in them, and you just know you'll die without them.

I just stood there and stared at her. I think I even had my mouth open. She stopped, her gorgeous eyes looking into my bewildered ones.
'Is something wrong?' she asked me, in a soft, quiet voice. The sound of it swirled around my brain, numbing it and sending me into that 'complete idiot mode' that you get when you've been taken completely and utterly off guard by someone.
'Er....sorry....I....er....that is, you....no, I mean, ummm....' I struggled manfully to regain control of my reeling thoughts. It took a moment, during which she contemplated me with an expression of amused concern. The way you might look at a small kid when it's making excuses for being naughty. I swallowed hard, and began again.
'I'm sorry, I was staring. That was very rude of me. I beg your pardon Miss.' She raised her eyebrows at the 'Miss' and broke into a smile.
'That's OK! No need to apologize. Did I startle you?' By now I had regained my composure, and had begun to enjoy her presence.
'In a manner of speaking, yes, you did!' I could have mentioned the fact that my heart had stopped for a while, and I had forgotten to breathe, but aside from that, yes, she had rather taken me by surprise. I felt quite stupid. Here was I, a grown adult, fumbling with words and thoughts; whilst she, a teenager, was cool and composed.
'But even so I shouldn't have stared. I'm really sorry.' She looked at the bottle of milk
I was holding. 'Er, just taking in the milk.' I was desperate to continue our conversation, but words failed me.
'So I see.' I'm sure that she was laughing at me, but was too polite to let it show. There was an expression on her face that registered recognition of my plight. I think she knew I wanted to say more, to hold onto her attention for a little longer. She didn't move, but she said,
'I should be going, or I'll be late for school.'

For a few wonderful seconds she let me look directly into those fabulous eyes. Let me gaze for a moment at the reason for living.

'Yes, of course....Ummm, I was wondering....' she still hadn't moved and was still looking into my eyes. I began to fail again. Brave men may charge into battle to face the wrath and might of a superior army, but even the greatest of warriors and heroes can falter and stumble in the presence of a beautiful girl. 'Maybe see you later....?' She tilted her head a little, a question on her face. I could imagine her thoughts. 'Is he some sort of perv? A dirty old man?' A wave of relief hit me like a sunami as her expression softened and she replied.
'Yes, I'm up and down this road every day. You're bound to see me sometime.' My face lit up like a schoolboy's.
'Great! See you later then!' With a little chuckle she turned and left me on my stoop. I watched her as she walked up the street and disappeared into the school. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw her turn her head a little and look back as she turned into the gate. I closed the door, and went into the kitchen to make my morning cuppa. My head was just full of her; that gorgeous face, the long black hair, the sensuous but natural sway of her body as she walked away from me. And polite, so pleasant to talk to! None of the snotty attitude so many kids have towards adults. I just had to talk to her again. But how? I could hardly waylay her in the street, or at the school gates. That would be just asking for trouble.

I brooded for the rest of the morning, trying to figure out a way of approaching her and getting some sort of relationship going. However, 'the best laid plans of mice and men....'
My plan, such as it was, involved looking out for the kids leaving school, and leave
the house as she came past. Hopefully then I could say 'Hello' and she would
respond. But things didn't quite go to plan.

I saw her coming out of the school gates that afternoon, but she was with a whole bunch of girls. Nonetheless, I had my jacket on and was out of the door when she was passing. But as I looked up, hoping for a greeting or something, she was talking with another girl, and just ignored me. The moment had passed, and so had she. I was left standing on the street, looking down the road after her. Then suddenly she turned her head and glanced back at me, a smile on her face. Was she laughing at me? No, surely not. It was a friendly smile not a sneer. But why? Why not say something as she passed by? I gave her a little wave and went back into the house.

Females, at best, are a bit of a mystery. Teenage ones are just impossible.

The next day I had to leave the house early. An appointment with the Job Centre 'placement team' at nine meant that I wasn't there when she would have gone past on her way to school.

'Thought about vocational training have we?' The large bespectacled middle aged woman behind the counter asked.
'No we haven't.' I replied; getting a less than friendly response to my attempt at humour.
'Then I suggest that a visit to the re training section may be a good idea....before your benefit is reduced.' I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly manner, in the face of the obvious blackmail, and asked where it was. She extended a heavily bangled arm and waved a thick and many ringed hand at a desk in the far corner of the room. I wandered over to it.

A young enthusiastic looking chap with acne leapt up from his chair and shook my hand.
'Glad to see someone keen to get back in the harness, what!' he chortled in an Oxbridge sort of Bertie Worcester accent. I wondered for a moment if he was fooling about, but it appeared to be his natural voice. His manner changed instantly.
'From the old car plant?' he asked in a sympathetic tone. I nodded. 'Dashed poor show, what, all those good chaps out of a job like that....really sorry old boy...' He left the sentence hanging. He sounded as though he actually cared.
'Your lady colleague tells me that I should re-train for something. What's on offer?' He gave me a conspiratorial look.
'Well, actually, just betwixt you and me, old chum, not a lot. Unless you fancy a spot
of lorry driving, that is...a life on the open road and all that....'

....to be continued....