A father of an eighth-grade girl is furious upon catching her and her boyfriend having sex. Years later the boy is a pupil in the English class he teaches!
Part One
My name is Kirk Fogarty. When I was in the eighth grade in 1980, I was fortunate enough to have half a dozen girls in my class who were outstanding beauties. I don’t mean they were simply cute; honestly, they were far above the level of just being pretty. They were absolute head-turners. They would catch the eye of every red-blooded, healthy male from the age of 12 to 80. I wasn’t much of a catch, however, so none of those six girls—whose names I could still recite by heart 45 years later—had any romantic interests in me whatsoever
.
I sadly accepted that truth, so when my hormones started to really affect me, I lowered my sites a smidgen. I decided to pursue Carly Mendelson, another classmate of mine. She was a petite blonde girl who was quite cute. Carly, by any fair assessment of her physical charms, wasn’t in the same league as Debbie Albert nor Elaine Baker, nor Jill Pelham, nor the other three members of the Sexy Six, but she was certainly not off-putting in the slightest. At least she was friendly toward me, not snobbish in the least.
When I asked her if she’d like to go to an upcoming school dance on the first Friday in April, Carly accepted my offer readily—which pleasantly surprised me. I was even more startled when I realized how fetching she was when she dressed well for the occasion. Carly Mendelson was quite beautiful when she put a little bit of effort into looking that way. I saw a few of my male peers eying her, so I knew I wasn’t the only boy who was impressed. I told Carly how lovely she looked in her light-blue taffeta dress, saying she’d be hounded by boys if she dressed that well every day. I suppose that remark was something approaching a left-handed compliment, but Carly graciously accepted it as the praise I intended. We danced every dance for the full two hours the event lasted, including the slow ones that we both seemed to enjoy. During the last one, I said, “Carly, I could get used to this in a hurry.”
“I could, too,” she sweetly said in response. “I like you, Kirk; I like you a lot.”
Thus, Carly Mendelson and I, for a while, became an inseparable couple.
Part Two
Over the next six weeks, I visited Carly’s house several times and she visited mine. Often, we shared meals. Neither Carly nor I had ever had anything approaching a long-term boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, so it was all new and wonderful to us. Our respective parents liked each other, too. They seemed as pleased about our budding romantic relationship as we did. Mr. Mendelson, Carly’s father, was an English teacher at the high school that I would be entering in September once I graduated from middle school. (Since English was my best school subject, he said he looked forward to seeing my name on his class list in the near future.) Our parents also shared the same set of puritanical values. Perhaps the most noteworthy and important was the strong belief that premarital sex was sinful—which made abstinence a desirable virtue. I frankly wasn’t in a hurry to bed any girl, Carly included, because I basically shared the same ideals as my parents. I figured all good things would come to me eventually—including the fun and thrills of sexual intimacy with compliant females.
Carly had a sister who was four years older than she was. Marilyn Mendelson was a high school senior who was clearly the rebellious type—not at all like her little sister who wasn’t the least bit controversial or naughty. Once when I was visiting Carly’s house, I overheard Marilyn and her parents arguing about something Marilyn was wearing that they found to be too revealing for their standards of dress. The argument escalated to the point where they forbade her from leaving the house if she insisted on wearing a specific low-cut top. Marilyn refused to knuckle under, so she stayed home and sulked. I never did see Marilyn in her controversial outfit. She was a well-built gal, so that was disappointing for me.
On the last Friday in May, Carly’s parents left for a weekend trip to visit friends who lived 70 miles away. It wasn’t a big deal to Carly, who didn’t mention it, but it presented a golden opportunity for Marilyn, who decided she’d host a few friends for a hastily organized intimate gathering. Carly and I were just watching TV in her family’s basement rec room that night, when we heard the party guests arrive. There were five of them—and they were a boisterous lot. A few had brought bottles of liquor—which was definitely contraband in the Mendelson household. Nobody who resided there consumed intoxicating beverages. The Mendelsons came from a long line of teetotalers. After five minutes, the noise from the goings-on upstairs got progressively quiet. “Let’s see what’s happening up there,” Carly suggested to me. I nodded my head and we ascended the staircase.
When we stepped into the living room, Carly and I both got an eyeful! There were three couples happily engaged in sexual intercourse. Marilyn was on the floor—and on her knees—performing fellatio on a swarthy male who looked to be about 25 years old. One couple was on the leather couch screwing in the missionary position. A third pair was together in a large armchair, with the female riding her lover, getting fucked cowgirl-style. All six seemed to be oblivious to Carly and me being spectators—until I said something.
“Oh, excuse us for intruding,” I said politely and very apologetically. “We had no idea what was going on up here.”
Marilyn removed her mouth from her lover’s penis long enough to invite us to join the fun. “There’s plenty of room for you two, if you want to join in. I really think both of you could benefit from a good fuck. You shouldn’t be as straitlaced as you both are in the eighth grade. Enjoy life! Have a fuck! The more the merrier.”
I was looking for an easy way to politely decline and get as far away from this orgy as possible, but Carly seemed far more open-minded about her sister’s invitation than I was. “Kirk, I’m okay with joining in, if you are,” she surprisingly told me. “I’ve wanted to have a fuck with you since we attended the school dance back in April.”
That bit of information changed everything completely. All of a sudden, an unexpected sexual romp with my sweetheart seemed like a great idea! The fact that I could see three more mature females getting merrily screwed at the same time further heightened my interest. “Okay, Carly, you’ve talked me into it!” I said to my girlfriend.
We both disrobed in about half a minute. I escorted Carly to the living room’s love seat—which seemed a highly appropriate venue for fucking—and positioned her small body where I could mount her comfortably. However, I was going to engage in sexual foreplay first to enjoy the experience thoroughly. This was all new to me. I’m sure that was the case for Carly, too.
Carly wasn’t especially well endowed, but she did have cute breasts that just invited me to caress and suck on them. Being a gentleman, I frequently interrupted my passionate licks with romantic kisses before returning to my pleasant diversion.
Sweet Carly began yanking on my rod to the point of hurting me slightly, so I got the definite impression that she wanted me to stop the foreplay and get on with our screwing. I had no objection to that idea, so I placed the tip of my throbbing penis at the opening of her vagina and shoved it in!
It was a wonderfully tight fit! Carly moaned her approval of my penetration, as did I. I began sliding my dick in and out of her. Having zero experience at this, my dick popped out of Carly’s pussy twice before I shortened my strokes. I knew this highly pleasurable experience couldn’t last much longer before I’d shoot a wad of jism.
“Try not to come inside me, Kirk,” Carly muttered between her delightful groans. That seemed like a sensible suggestion, so I pulled out almost immediately. Carly helped me achieve a climax with a few more sensuous and timely tugs. I spewed a large load of sperm across her stomach, but I didn’t have much time to enjoy or admire what I had done.
It was at that precise moment that we and the other three horny couples were rudely interrupted at various stages of copulation. Carly’s parents had returned home unexpectedly, two days early for some reason, and walked in on their two daughters hosting something akin to an orgy! All hell broke loose in this religious household.
To say that Mr. Mendelson was furious would be an understatement. He immediately announced everyone who wasn’t a daughter of his needed to vacate the premises immediately. He wasn’t interested in discussing anything with anyone. To make sure we got the idea, he began collecting the clothing that we had all shed. He then tossed it haphazardly across his front lawn. The bottles of booze and beer followed shortly thereafter. This resulted in the strange sight of half a dozen naked people running about in public view trying to find various garments and put them on quickly—all in the plain sight of curious neighbors whose attention had been drawn to the Mendelson home by Carly’s father’s yelling. I managed to catch a brief glimpse of Mrs. Mendelson sitting in the front seat of a car. She was covering her eyes while the chaos on her front lawn unfolded. Somehow, I found every item of clothing I had discarded, put them back on, and ran as fast as my legs could carry me in the opposite direction of the Mendelson house. It remains the most embarrassing moment in my life. It’s hard to imagine anything else that could possibly surpass it.
When Monday came, I was pleased that my misadventure was not known amongst my peers at school. I’m sure I would have been the subject of derision and promptly heckled if it had been learned by anyone. Carly approached me and gave me the news I had somewhat expected: She said she had been “forbidden” to socialize with me anymore as I and the other three males at the “orgy” were adjudged to have been “corrupting influences” on both Carly and Marilyn. “I tried to tell my parents that wasn’t the case, but they weren’t in any mood to listen to me,” she explained. Carly began to cry, but I dared not give her a comforting embrace.
She eventually composed herself. “Anyway, I guess this is our goodbye, Kirk,” she said as if one of us was moving a thousand miles away. Then she thoughtfully added, “By the way, thanks for the fuck on Friday night. I didn’t have the chance at the time to say it was very enjoyable.”
Part Three
Carly and I seldom spoke for the remaining two months we were in the same eighth-grade class, which was slightly awkward on occasion. It occurred to me that I should start worrying about high school. What would happen if I ended up in an English class that Carly’s father was teaching? I knew that under extreme circumstances that I or my parents could petition to have me assigned to a different teacher, but that was a true rarity, only done if there was a very serious problem between a teacher and a pupil. I wasn’t sure if getting caught fucking a teacher’s cute daughter in the eighth grade qualified—and I wasn’t about to ask if it did. Speaking of my parents, they must have found out at least a bit about what had happened that fateful night because they suddenly stopped socializing with Mr. and Mrs. Mendelson. However, they never said a word to me or made any inquiries about what had occurred. I was thankful for that!
By luck—or perhaps by design—I did not have Mr. Mendelson as my English teacher in the ninth or tenth grade. I also did my best not to cross his path during those two years. I can’t prove it, but I suspect he did the same. I was a very capable badminton player, and I intended to try out for the school team, but when I learned that Mr. Mendelson was the coach, I decided I’d forego that pastime. When my physical education teacher, Mr. Carlton, asked why, as the best badminton player in the school, I wasn’t a member of the school’s team, I told him, “Personal reasons, sir. To be more accurate, it’s personnel reasons.” He gave me a quizzical look but didn’t pry any further.
When I began the eleventh grade, my worst fear came true: On the first day of the new school year, I looked at my schedule and saw that my specialized English composition class was to be taught by Mr. Mendelson. As someone who enjoyed writing and reading good writers, I was very much looking forward to that class. I was stuck with the schedule—and with Mr. Mendelson—as only he taught that course at my high school. Having little choice in the matter, I decided to attend class and see what would happen to me. I imagined every possible negative scenario that might unfold. I was fully prepared to run for my life, if necessary.
During our first class, when Mr. Mendelson did a roll call to match names with faces, I noticed he said my name without eying me. I immediately sensed this would be a long and trying semester in his classroom. He then introduced the course and emphasized how it was totally focused on writing. We would be writing monologues, dialogues, narrations, and descriptive pieces of all sorts. That sounded like fun to me, but I worried that I would be marked harshly and unfairly because more than two years earlier I had lustfully rammed my dick into his darling daughter’s virginal but beckoning vagina.
He then gave the class an assignment to write an anecdote of no fewer than
It was an easy assignment for me. The words flowed freely when I sat at my typewriter. It was as if I was just acting as a stenographer for a higher, guiding force. I explained that night that Carly and I accidentally wandered into the three couples who were engaging in sexual acts and that Marilyn had goaded us into joining them. I pointed out that my first instinct was to flee the scene, but Carly was enthusiastic about participating and talked me into it. (I readily admitted I was easy to convince.) I made a point of describing exactly what Carly and I did on the love seat and how I’d strongly ejaculated just seconds before he walked into the house. Basically, I said I’d enjoyed penetrating his 14-year-old princess with my erection and, as a normal male, I wasn’t ashamed of what I did at all. I wrote approximately 1,
Two days later, Mr. Mendelson returned everyone’s papers. He commented that he had received a couple of truly outstanding examples of high-quality anecdotes, but he didn’t mention the writers’ names. I got an A-plus. At the end of the final paragraph, Mr. Mendelson had penned, “Outstanding work, Kirk! I’m certain you will do well in this class. I think we need to have a chat, though. Please return to see me when school is dismissed today.”
I figured that was a positive. I couldn’t have gotten a better grade, and I had cleared the air—something I wasn’t permitted to do when he was throwing my clothes on his front lawn back in the spring of 1980. I had no idea what Mr. Mendelson might say to me when we met privately, though. I was very curious, but somewhat apprehensive, about what he wanted to say to me.
Seated behind his desk, I could tell Mr. Mendelson was waiting for me to arrive. “Thanks for meeting me, Kirk. Please have a seat,” he told me. I sat in the closest desk to his.
He spoke first. “I suppose you know why I wanted to see you after class.”
I decided to be flippant, so I replied, “If you’re thinking of castrating me, sir, that’s against the law!”
He laughed and said, “I see you have a good sense of humor. That’s important for a writer. It can be a fine and effective way to win over your readers. No, Kirk, I’m not going to harm you; I just want to have a conversation that we truly need to have.”
He thanked me for my written account of what had happened in 1980. He told me Carly had said basically the same thing to him that night once he had chased the revelers away, but he refused to believe it. “I couldn’t think of my daughters—especially my naïve younger one—being sexually promiscuous,” he confessed. “I now know I was wrong, quite wrong, in fact.”
Then he added, “Carly never gave me a description of what you and she did, so what you wrote in your paper was totally new to me. Kirk, it was steamy, sensual and well written. It’s just a damn shame that you were talking about my sweet and innocent little girl and not some well-worn, eighth-grade slut. There were a few of those types in my class when I was that age.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that comment. Then I said, “I’d like to finally put this sordid episode behind us, if we could, please. I think enough time has passed.”
“I agree!” Mr. Mendelson told me. “Sometimes the best way to deal with an unpleasant episode is to pretend it never happened. Let’s try that, shall we? I’ll start. Hello, young man, my name is Mr. Mendelson. I see you are on my class list for my eleventh-grade English composition course. You are the student who submitted the excellent anecdote about his first sexual experience. I must say that was a brave topic to start the year with!”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “It was a very memorable experience in my life. I guess you could call it a milestone moment for me.”
“Yes,” Mr. Mendelson commented. “Your fine writing made it seem that way, young man. Why do you suppose this episode has stuck in your mind for so long?”
I couldn’t resist saying what I said next. “The 14-year-old girl I screwed that night had lovely, supple tits. To this very day she had the tightest, most wonderful pussy I’ve ever fucked. She was truly a great lay! I sincerely regret that I only got to sample her goodies that one time.”
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