Michael Alan - From Virgin to He-Whore - The Butterfly Effect

The ‘penny dropped’ when I noticed the occasional moist stain soaking through the back of a student’s skirt, as she left the room after class. A stain often described by some of my female naturist friends as a ‘snail trail’. My students were sometimes studying more than my mathematics lesson on the blackboard, and were getting aroused and dripping wet.

The college had a small swimming pool on the grounds. During the summer months after classes, the girls who were resident in the boarding school would often skinny-dip and sunbathe nude without any hint of embarrassment as I passed. In that first year of teaching I had become a recognized and accepted part of the college structure. More so, I was simply just another ‘teacher’. Historically in this college, all teachers were female and I gradually morphed into that gender as far as most students were concerned.

As far as Sister Mary was concerned I also fitted this mold. Every teacher was expected to do her share of playground duty during recess and lunchtime breaks. As one of the staff I was afforded no exemptions. It was not unusual for a teacher to be called to administer discipline or assistance in change rooms or toilets when students were in difficulties or causing a disturbance. Sister Mary made it clear that I was expected to do the same, both for student welfare and my teaching duties.

So, on occasions I’d have to help a girl who had fainted or was sick or there were fights in any of these areas. I was also expected to enter unannounced, to catch any girl smoking, which I was reluctant to do. I only did this when a student had ‘snitched’ on another girl smoking and I was forced to respond lest I ignore my duty.

None of the girls, junior or senior, saw this as being unusual or embarrassing and I eventually became equally unfazed. Also, as it was an ALL female environment and there were no male facilities, I was expected to use the female toilets and change rooms when my needs occurred. With the general relaxed attitude to nudity in the college Sister Mary saw no reason to believe I would need privacy different to anyone else. As a nudist, I had no issue with this policy either! However, with my abuse still sitting in a distant corner of my memories, I did feel slightly uncomfortable when placed in a position where I believed from my experiences my presence could possibly embarrass a student.

I had become accustomed to entering female facilities during my university vacation employment. One job that paid well and was relatively easy was with a disposable towel delivery business. I was required to replace the cloth towel rolls in revolving dispensers in male and female toilets and change rooms in businesses in the Sydney region. The company only employed male delivery drivers, as female facilities have cubicles and women had complete privacy. Whereas, male facilities included communal urinals where a female intruder could easily compromise a male’s privacy and exposed genitals and leave the company open to litigation for invasion of personal privacy.

I was the school swimming coach and would take the school swim representatives to training during summer months at the local Olympic size pool. Invariably, there would always be stragglers getting changed after training. To hurry them up I’d initially call to them from outside the change rooms. However, this rarely had any effect on their haste. So, occasionally after due warning of my entrance, I’d have to go in and emphasize the need to dress quickly so as not to miss the bus back to school. There never seemed to be any issue of discomfort from any girl with my presence as they calmly changed before me from their wet costumes into school uniform. I became aware that some girls were using this ploy repeatedly just to get this reaction from me.

I was initially reluctant to use this ‘hurry up’ considering the molestation I had suffered as a child. However, rationale assured me that this action was totally different. Here there was never any unwelcomed physical contact with these young women. I always gave them plenty of warning of my entrance and time enough to cover themselves if they deemed necessary – which none ever did. To them I was just a ‘genderless’ teacher!

The college also had two full size tennis courts in the middle of the grounds and every spare moment outside of class time they’d be filled with girls playing tennis. It was common practice for a girl to remove her knickers to play. I was initially intrigued and wondered why? I was eventually told by one of my teaching ‘sisters’ that girls had been warned of the fungal infection, thrush, in their health studies. ‘Thrush is a very common and serious health complaint if you sit for long periods in wet and sweaty knickers,’ was a quote from their health studies text. I then understood why my athletics training group would often train without knickers under their sports tunic.

While on playground duty, it was impossible not to notice that many girls were playing tennis without knickers. If they indiscreetly bent to pick up a ball their bare bum and pussy would flash into view. Neither staff nor students seemed at all perturbed by this occasional accidental show of fanny and I wasn’t either. However, the initial awareness did cause me to do a ‘double take’. After just a few months into this job I was beginning to accept and adapt to the relaxed attitude to nudity within this convent girls’ college.

It was obvious that the emerging rabid conservatism of the era had not touched this corner of innocence in the world, to change the historical acceptance of skinny-dipping and the body natural amongst single sex groups. Nudity was not an issue in this all-female domain.

“Ah,” I thought, “so explains Sister Mary’s almost welcome acceptance of my disclosure of my nudist lifestyle!”

During the year, it was common for the staff to join the students in semi-regular sports contests. It could be a staff team competing against a school team at the annual swimming carnival or a tennis challenge between a school and staff representative at lunchtime.

Early in my first year at the college I was selected to play in the staff/student tennis challenge.

At the time I was playing State Grade squash amongst contemporaries such as Ken Hiscoe and Cam Nancarrow, both of whom were either past or current World Squash Champions. I also played regular A grade tennis each weekend. I was matched against the school tennis champ, who also happened to be the NSW State junior female champion. It was a good contest and we enjoyed an exciting match together in front of the whole school.

However, I had decided to add some humour to the match and dress as a student and borrowed one of the school’s sport tunics. It fitted me around the waist, but the skirt only barely covered my crotch due to my long legs. I had a head of long hair at the time, which was the fashion for men, so tied my hair in pigtails with ribbons. Also, I took a calculated risk and hoped that wearing my brightest coloured jocks, would not cause too much concern. I thought it might add some humour to the tennis match. My initial appearance as I took to the court raised cheers and laughter.

However, as soon as I began running around, my

‘knickers’ became obvious to every female crammed around the court. The cheers of surprise and laughter became deafening. I feigned surprise at their reactions and quizzically looked around for a possible source for their amusement. This just added to the frivolity and mirth for the remainder of the match. Occasionally a girl would shout, “Get your knickers off, sir!” followed by a chorus of cheers. I didn’t comply, taking it for the tease it seemed to be.

As I walked to pick up some balls during the game I noticed a group of my Year 10 twat teasers sitting in one corner of the court. Here I thought to myself was my chance to ‘tease’ them back. As I stood directly in front of them and at their direct eye level to my crotch, I raised my skirt above my waist and wiped my racquet grip to fully expose my bulging manhood, constrained, as I thought it was, inside my jocks. I did it with nonchalance, as if it was a common everyday behaviour on a tennis court and with indifference to the sensuality of my genital bulge for these ‘surprised’ but approving spectators. This bought forth gushes of laughter from my teasers.