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As if I should know what she meant, the most talkative of my new companions, a girl my age called Tania, explained that the School Slag had left at the end of last term and her replacement was yet to be chosen.She went on to say that Marion or Josephine were the front-runners, but that I was so pretty I better keep my head down.Yet it seemed to be being used in the same context as the word "fag" is used in respect of English public schools for boys.
But I could not help hearing conversation around me in which the word "slag" (meaning, I supposed, a whore - a hooker) kept recurring.
Though I never tired of being told how pretty I had become, I was embarrassed by the way grown men I had known since childhood would now treat me like a goddess.
Somehow I instinctively knew though, that this was not something to take overmuch advantage of, and I found great pleasure in being reportedly known as "a nice girl".
Like all girls of my age though, I was very self-conscious about my body and oh so wished that breasts, 37 D-cup, pendulous, with pointy pink nipples, absolutely exquisitely beautiful as they were to any who saw the truth, were more petite, not so bold, and more like those of some of my "normal" sized friends.
I had too, already become aware of the power of my beauty.
I was an innocent, with an angel's face, startling light blue eyes that would flash green when I was aroused from whatever cause, and blonde hair reaching down below my very shapely buttocks.