Paul, an excellent middle school math student, is paired with Jenny, a cute schoolmate who needs lots of tutoring–and apparently lots of sex, too!
Part One
My name is Paul Maguire. Nearly half a century ago, when I was 14 years old and in the eighth grade, I excelled in math far above my peers. It just came naturally to me. Numbers seemed so logical and straightforward that I couldn’t understand how anyone might struggle with the subject. Obviously, I was an exceptional case, because many of my classmates labored over problems that I thought were easy to solve.
To his credit, my resourceful teacher, Mr. O’Reilly, saw I was bored with his daily lessons and assignments, so he decided I should share my mathematical aptitude with students who needed it the most. During math class he’d pair me with one of the struggling students so I could walk him or her through that day’s problems. Thus, I became a de facto teacher’s assistant—without receiving a nickel in pay, of course. Mr. O’Reilly explained this would be totally voluntary on my part; I didn’t have to be his assistant if I chose not to do so. It was my choice entirely.
After about a week, Mr. O’Reilly wanted some feedback from me about my experiences as his math helper thus far. I was totally honest with what I told him. I said sometimes I liked doing the task, but sometimes I disliked it. I said there were certain students I’d henceforth rather not work with because they had bad attitudes and simply weren’t interested in learning. On the other hand, there were students I quite enjoyed helping. He asked me for specific names, so I gave him a verbal list. All three of the students I didn’t want to help any longer were males, while all four I enjoyed working with were females—who were all quite attractive. Mr. O’Reilly spotted the gender pattern immediately.
“Hmm, I wonder if it’s just a coincidence that the students you enjoy helping are all pretty girls,” he said to me while trying to suppress a smile.
“Maybe…maybe not!” I replied. “Be that as it may, you said this is a voluntary service I am performing, so I guess I can be fussy about which students I choose to help and which ones I don’t. Isn’t that right, sir? Therefore, since I can be choosy about this, I’m going to restrict my math help to friendly and attractive girls only. The boys don’t seem to want my help, anyway.”
Mr. O’Reilly softly chuckled and said, “Okay, Paul, you are free to include or exclude whomever you want for whatever reason you want.” Then he added as an aside, “Consider yourself lucky, Paul. I don’t have that luxury in my job. I honestly wish I did! If I had the option of not teaching the students I don’t want to teach, my life would be far more pleasant from Monday through Friday for nine months of the year.”
Over the next few days, my life was pure bliss during math period. I didn’t have to associate with dullards who had no interest at all in learning—only with attractive female peers who seemed very eager to listen to what I had to say to them. I freely circulated among five of them. When one boy did ask for my assistance, I simply said, “No, I’m not interested in helping you. I have my standards to maintain.” Perplexed by my punitive comment, he shrugged his shoulders and sought help from Mr. O’Reilly instead. Mr. O’Reilly flashed me a quick grin.
The next week, Mr. O’Reilly privately asked me before his class began if I would volunteer to go to another classroom to assist a pupil who was severely struggling with math. “Does this student meet my criteria?” I asked. “I’m sure you know what I mean, sir.” I made an hourglass shape with my hands to ensure he understood me precisely.
“There aren’t too many students who attend this school who are built like that, Paul,” he noted, “but this particular student is definitely a female based on her name. This is the request for you; it’s on a note I received from her teacher this morning. I don’t know her at all or what she looks like; I only have her name: Jenny Spencer.”
The name did not ring a bell, but I figured I’d be open-minded about it to begin with, anyway. “Sure, count me in,” I said cheerfully. “I’m always ready and willing to meet a new girl. If she happens to be shaped like an hourglass, that’s a bonus for me.”
Part Two
To my delight, I discovered Jenny Spencer was a real cutie despite having nothing close to an hourglass shape. A petite girl with wavy, chestnut-brown tresses, and only the slightest of breasts, Jenny needed plenty of help with very basic mathematical concepts. Because of her cuteness (and nothing else whatsoever) I was willing to spend an enormous amount of time with her. In fact, her teacher, Mrs. Kenworth, figured it would be time well spent if I could spend anywhere from one to two hours each morning with Jenny in the library trying to catch her up with the rest of her class in math and “reviewing” things she should have learned years before but somehow didn’t. Mr. O’Reilly okayed Mrs. Kenworth’s plan. He just gave me a list of my homework to do for his classes I was missing while I was in the library. I always whizzed through those assignments swiftly and without much trouble.
Jenny was showing marked improvement in her math studies almost daily. She paid attention to me and seemed eager to please me by mastering the skills and concepts I was showing her. Within a short time, she was able to rejoin her peers for a regular math class. Despite her success, I sensed Jenny was unhappy about not having me as her doting, private teacher anymore. I missed not being close to her for two hours every morning, too!
Three nights later I was surprised to receive a telephone call from Jenny’s mother. She heaped praise on me for making Jenny at least a competent math student. “You did something right. Jenny was utterly lost at math before you entered the picture, Paul,” I was told. “I’d like to hire you as her tutor. Would that interest you? Jenny misses you already. I think she’d benefit by seeing you two or three times a week—and this time you’d be paid for your valuable work with her!”
When I was told I would be paid $10 per hour—quite a heady amount of money in 1980—I quickly accepted the offer, Jenny must have been lingering nearby the phone, because I heard her mother say to her, “Paul has accepted the proposal,” which prompted a loud and enthusiastic cheer from her daughter. That was quite flattering to me.
We jointly decided to start with two hours of tutoring per week, an hour each on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from 6 to 7 p.m. at Jenny’s house. She lived about four blocks from me, which was easily walkable. I did see Jenny’s father occasionally, but I mostly dealt with her mom, who considered me an amalgam of a savior and a miracle worker. Things were working out splendidly.
I noticed that Jenny was getting much more friendly with me at her home than she ever had been at our school library. At first, it was merely little things, such as squeezing my hand often and giving me an array of compliments. Then she began sitting beside me rather than across the table so she could affectionately put her hand on my thigh. This sensual attention was all new and wonderful to me. I hadn’t started this flirtatious behavior, but I certainly had no intention of stopping it, either. I was enjoying Jenny’s amorous attention.
The fifth night I ventured to 43 Cedar Street to tutor Jenny, her parents were out of the house at some sort of social function. I never saw them at all that evening. Jenny had a brother, Mitchell, a high school student who, it was assumed, would be home as a chaperone. That plan was apparently news to him, however. He got an offer to go to a friend’s house—and off he went. As he exited, he said to Jenny, “I know you have steamy dreams about Paul, but try to control yourself because no one will be here to keep you in line.” He left the house without waiting for a reply from his sister.
I was delighted by that comment. “Do you really have steam dreams about me, Jenny?” I asked her. “If it’s true, I think it’s great.”
Jenny smiled and left the room suddenly, telling me she had something to show me that was “very important.” Within about 90 seconds she returned with a hard-core pornographic magazine.
“This is one of Mitchell’s dirty magazines,” she told me. “Just look at some of these pictures in it!”
She opened it to a hot photo spread that showed a couple happily engaged in various sexual acts: cunnilingus, fellatio, anal sex, titty-fucking, and plain regular screwing. I was immediately aroused by the dozen or so full-color images that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I was curious enough to ask my tutee this personal question: “Do you often read your brother’s porno magazines, Jenny? This surprises me a little bit.”
She gave me an explanation rather than a direct answer. “Mitchell thinks he’s hiding them well, but I know exactly where he keeps them stashed in his bedroom,” Jenny told me. “Mom and Dad don’t know he has them, but I do! Whenever Mitchell steps out, like he just did tonight, I like to borrow them and look at pictures. I’m very curious about sex. I’m eager to try it. And since we find ourselves alone tonight, Paul…” She stopped her sentence at that critical point and let me figure out what she was driving at. I was no fool: Jenny wanted sex, she wanted to do it with me, and best of all, she wanted to do it immediately! What a lovely, sexually liberated girl Jenny Spencer turned out to be!
For a moment, I thought I was living the plot of one of those phony but steamy letters that appeared each month in Penthouse magazine—except this sexual offer was totally real and legitimate. This was a fantastic opportunity for me to screw a willing and very pretty schoolmate—and she was the instigator of it all!
It occurred to me that I hadn’t given Jenny any sort of answer to the question she hadn’t quite finished, but she just assumed it would be a definite yes. (She was correct, of course.) She pointed to one of the pictures in the magazine—in which the buxom female with platinum blonde hair was performing fellatio on a well-endowed mustachioed male. He looked quite pleased that he was the lucky recipient. Then Jenny drew my attention to another photo on the next page which showed the man using his tongue on the gal’s vagina. The female had a rapturous expression on her face. Jenny said, “I’ll make a deal with you, Paul: You do that to me and I’ll do that to you. What do you say to that idea?”
I finally found my voice. I quickly told this junior vixen that was indeed a fair proposition, and I couldn’t wait to begin pleasing her. I stuck out my tongue, which wasn’t especially long, to show her I was ready to begin at a moment’s notice. “Jenny,” I insisted, “I’ll lick your pussy and then I’ll give it a first-rate fucking, too.” I was rather new at this—completely new, actually—so my promise of high-quality screwing was mostly teenage male bravado. I figured I might as well feign confidence because Jenny couldn’t possibly know how inexperienced I was at this sort of thing.
I also insisted that we put some romance into this encounter with a few kisses before the two of us really got down to business. Jenny was agreeable to that suggestion, but I could tell that mere kissing was clearly secondary in her mind to mimicking the people in the photos of Mitchell’s porno magazine.
We both quickly got undressed. I was immediately aroused just by the possibility of screwing a girl—any girl—so I was sporting a serious erection long before I stepped out of my trousers and briefs. I was proud of what nature had given me, too. When I finally did expose my stiff penis, I tugged at it a couple times to get it to its maximum length. I wanted to plainly show Jenny that I was well equipped to please her with it. Jenny was not exactly voluptuous, but her nude body still had me awestruck—especially her pussy. Gloriously nude, Jenny sat on the living room couch, spread her legs sexily so I could see her vagina quite clearly, and then she started to finger it. “Here it is, Paul,” she said softly, stating the obvious. “Come over here and do the deed.”
I was happy to oblige as this would be a milestone moment in my life, one that I’d undoubtedly fondly remember and replay in my mind, in minute detail, until my dying day. Without any further ado, I buried my face between Jenny’s thigh and immediately got to work licking her sexy vagina. It was fine hair covering it, which was okay by me. I licked it upward downward and sideways. I tried to stick my tongue inside it. I didn’t have much luck with that, so I put my right index finger inside her pussy instead. I was hoping Jenny would approve. Boy, did she ever approve! My finger brought her to a sizable orgasm. I figured that was the equivalent of a natural treat for me, so I promptly lapped it up, all the while continuing to jam my finger in and out of her most private part.
Jenny was still enjoying herself, but I was starting to slightly worry that she had forgotten that she had promised to pleasure me as part of our deal. I need not have worried about that. “Just give me a few more minutes of this finger-fucking, Paul, and then I’ll suck on your dick. Maybe I can make you come, too.”
When Jenny finally pulled my finger from her pussy, she told me to stand exactly where I was. “I’ve always wanted to try this!” she exclaimed as she knelt before me and took my stiff shaft into her warm mouth. For someone with allegedly zero experience at performing a blowjob, Jenny was quite excellent at it! She treated my penis like it was a popsicle, using her tongue to stimulate it from its sensitive head down to my testicles. She also used her hands to jerk on it and fondle my balls. It seemed like my dick grew two inches from the wonderful, erotic treatment Jenny was providing so well.
I didn’t want to ejaculate yet—and that would have surely happened had I let the blowjob continue for another minute. Instead, I said to her, “You’ve done an excellent job, Jenny. Good girl! My dick feels like a utility pole! It’s ready to penetrate that pussy of yours. If you liked my finger inside you, I guarantee you’ll love this erect dick in your hot vagina even more!”
I lifted Jenny off her knees, gave her a quick kiss, and set her on the couch where I promptly mounted her. Within seconds I had thrusted my manhood inside her and began to drive it as deeply as I could. I moaned with delight, and so did Jenny, so I knew I was doing a passable job.
“You have a nice, tight pussy, Jenny!” I informed her. “You are a great fuck! It won’t be long before I come. I want to please you with my throbbing dick!”
I meant that last sentence sincerely, so my screwing became more intense. Still, that didn’t stop me from fondling Jenny’s small titties which were surprisingly a real turn on for me. For a personal treat I stopped the screwing for perhaps 30 seconds so I could suck on her nipples, first the right one, then the left one. They were too precious to ignore! Then I refocused and resumed ravaging her sexy vagina. Everything was utterly fantastic…and I was having the time of my life!
Jenny seemed to be enjoying what I was doing, too. “Fuck me as hard as you can, Pau!” she ordered. “Make me come again, please!”
Apparently, I achieved that goal because Jenny let out a primal groan that could have been heard throughout her house if anyone else had been at home that night. That sexy reaction of hers set me off. I came strongly. The energy I expended in filling Jenny’s heavenly vagina full of my warm, thick jism was surprising. I could have fallen asleep within seconds, but I wanted to enjoy the moment of triumph. I pulled out of Jenny’s pussy and let a few drops of my semen dribble across her aroused nipples. It was the perfect visual denouement to our passionate round of fucking. All in all, I figured we had done quite well for a pair of neophytes
!
I collapsed from exhaustion on top of her. Jenny thought that was amusing. She giggled for a few seconds before we kissed some more. Jenny finally said, “I love when you tutor me in math, Paul, but our screwing tops figuring out a five-step problem any day of the week. We’ll have to do this often!”
“Yeah, riding you a few hundred times ought to satisfy me,” I joked between deep breaths. “This was definitely the best experience of my whole life. I don’t want it to end. Even when we’re at different schools next year, we need to keep fucking regularly.”
“That’s right,” Jenny agreed. “I’ll tell my mother that I need you. That will be the truth—but she’ll think I’m talking only about math tutoring!”
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