Just Off Center

Recently I was asked what it was about schoolgirl uniforms that turn men on so much. There’s no use denying that we men turn into wolf-headed lust dogs at the sight of that plaid skirt and the knee socks. But why? What is it about this particular configuration of cloth that makes me so horny? How does even the homeliest of women turn into a sweet piece of ass when she dons the tucked in blouse and hair bow? Well, I’m afraid I can’t speak for all the members of my gender. But I can tell you why I personally am so nutso over this little outfit. Fade to the past…

Kindergarten was the only grade before college that I attended public school. Since the day I left Caze Public School I’ve been surrounded by girls in uniform. Of course at that point girls weren’t even gross yet. They were just the kids with long hair who played with the stupid toys. (Psychic Mike says you’re thinking “Not me. I loved playing with the boys. The girls were boring with their dolls and tea parties”) Boys wore uniforms too: navy blue or khaki dress shorts with a red, white or blue polo shirt, belt, dress socks, and uniform shoes. I can’t recall if the girls were wearing skirts yet. I think the teachers were just trying to get all the girls to keep their legs together, so maybe not. Who knew this lesson would go on in futility throughout their scholastic careers?

As we moved up in grades the class stayed relatively the same. In parochial school, enrollment is small and classes move through the grades together. There was only one John, one Kyle, one Rachel, and one Ashley. There were two Jennifers though. And a new student was a thing of great mystery and intrigue for all. Eventually though, we were all assimilated in the same class. Up to the point that these girls started to develop I had known them as classmates and playmates for several years.

So when fourth grade came along I was getting pretty proficient at drawing big, circular boobies and curled hair on my stick figures. Then one day I got my first boner! Yay, I was becoming a man. But why? What did it mean? Sex education wasn’t exactly a priority for Catholic schools. But for the next year or so I went from having girlfriends because that’s what adults did to not having girlfriends because I was too intimidated to speak to them. Every month I noticed that another one of these girls I’d been in the same classes with was starting to bulge in certain areas and become altogether misshapen. And those uniforms were there for the entire transformation. By the time I graduated from grade 8, those same uniforms had transformed from the way we tell the girls from the boys to the thin layers of cloth that separated my hands from what my brain was telling me I absolutely had to make mine.

Around the eighth grade, the girls started speaking up about sex, a previously unheard of act. For years prior the boys had been making all the crude and retarded jokes that came with a theoretical knowledge of baby-making. Everything was up for mockery. In Biology, the day we learned of the human coccyx chuckles erupted from the back of the class. Boys gathered in groups to listen intently to the lucky fellow who had felt a girl’s boob. The most fortunate and studly of us encouraged the rest of us to smell his fingers. But through all of this the girls remained quiet. Some would show open disgust, which was great, but most just kept to themselves. Until just before high school when the now “fully” developed girls started joining in, usually by tormenting one or more of the girls who had allowed a boy to touch her naughty parts. And even though they were cruel, they were still sexually budding girls, bursting out of those tight little blouses, talking about sex. And that made them all the more commanding of our attentions and fascinations.

In high school, the sex actually got underway. I rounded the bases in less than a year’s time. And in that time, the uniform was always a factor. Making out with fingertips in the waistline, feeling up over the blouse, fingering under the pleated skirt, and watching her walk away while pulling her white knee socks back up are just a few memories etched into the minds of teenage boys nationwide. Nearly every sexual first I had involved a school uniform either before or after, and usually during. Sometimes the skirts were plaid. Sometimes they were solid. Some were knee length. Our favorites were a little bit shorter. And the sluts always found ways to make themselves look “available” while maintaining that strict criteria for acceptable dress.

Since high school graduation I have all but forgotten the memories of those wonderful uniforms. I have added a plethora of memories to use at my discretion. But to this day I cannot look at a girl in a schoolgirl uniform and not be instantly thrown back to the age when I first discovered a woman’s body. The difference is that now the uniforms are only worn by girls seeking to produce this exact effect. The innocence of the uniform has been tossed aside in exchange for the lurid ogling of dirty old men. Now they are altogether instruments of lust.

And while I could go to any Catholic high school today and see the young bodies of teenage girls actually using the real thing, strutting around oblivious to the effect they are having, I simply have no desire. The memories and lust are not attached to the girls. These chicks are just kids. But that uniform. That uniform is all grown up, and it beckons my attention and my… “attention”. It belongs in my fantasies. Then it belongs on my bedroom floor. No…. the back seat of my car.