A teenage misogynist decides the best way to obtain revenge on the girls who had once snubbed him is to give them a good screwing…and then ignore them!
Part One
I was born in suburban Canada in 1967. My parents both emigrated from Sicily shortly after the war. They were both toddlers at the time, so they had no foreign accents at all, unlike their parents. I had no siblings. My mother told me years later that I had been a “difficult birth” and if she had become pregnant a second time, there might have been serious problems for her. Thus, I never had any brothers or sisters.
My parents doted on me, and we had a wonderful relationship. Our evening meals were the times we discussed everything. Before I started school, I liked girls. I really did—at the time. My parents unnecessarily insisted that when I made friends, gender should not be a barrier. I complied. Actually, I tried to comply, but I failed miserably.
For some reason, girls seemed to reject me almost immediately once I began to approach them. Maybe it was because I wasn’t especially good looking or charming. I wasn’t a great conversationalist and I had no outstanding talents. I wasn’t much of an athlete or a scholar, either. I was just one of those nameless, forgotten students whom everyone has had as a schoolmate—the kind of peer that when you see a photo of him in an old yearbook, you need to read the caption to recall his name. That was me—Stefano Mancuso—in a nutshell.
By the time I was ten years old my opinion about girls had undergone a 180-degree change. After years of continuous rejection, I now didn’t like them. I stopped inviting them to my birthday parties—they never showed up anyway. I never engaged in any sort of conversation with them. I even resented being paired with a girl for any school assignment that required two people to work together. Yes, I had become that embittered from years of being shunned by members of the fair sex.
Part Two
Then a curious but positive thing happened to me: Sometime between my eleventh and twelfth birthday, I turned into “a very handsome young man” as my mother and my aunts like to tell me. I had never considered that possibility until one day I glanced at the bathroom mirror and noticed that, all of a sudden, I wasn’t such a bad-looking fellow after all. I didn’t quite know how to handle this undeniable fact—so I naturally dealt with it badly. Whenever girls at school wanted to initiate conversations with me, I refused to participate. I briefly and succinctly told them why, too. My standard response to longtime female classmates was, “You never cared that I was alive before, why should I waste my time with you now?” That remark typically left them dumbfounded as I haughtily walked away. It felt good to turn the tables and now be the one who was doing the rejecting. Revenge was sweet for me.
I was blessed with a long memory that helped me be vengeful. One day at school, just as we were being dismissed in the afternoon, Nancy Biltmore, a pretty brunette, got an especially severe blast from me. She not only was a sixth-grade classmate, but her family had lived five houses away from mine on Sequoia Avenue for as long as I could recall. Nancy was a girl whom I invited to my birthday party on three separate occasions. She never once confirmed if she was coming or not, and, of course, she just didn’t show up on the three appointed days, despite my mother having prepared for her. Now that I was considered a “hot commodity” by the girls in my class, she tried to be overtly friendly and pretended her apathetic past behavior toward me did not matter. That change of attitude angered me greatly. I was having none of it. I gave Nancy my usual rejection speech and added the terms “two-faced” and “hypocrite” to my harsh dismissal of her advances. Before walking away, I paused long enough to notice my words had the desired effect: They had stung her severely and she was about to break into tears. Seeing that I had her on the ropes, I went for the knockout. I continued with my verbal lashing, giving her a follow-up diatribe: “Go ahead, Nancy. Start crying. Bawl your eyes out. To hell with you! You deserve to know how I felt for years.”
Mr. Daniels, who was the first male teacher I had ever had, overheard my comments to Nancy and politely asked me to have a private chat with him. If he expected me to apologize to Nancy, he was sorely mistaken. Before he had spoken a word to me, I broke into a long, passionate monologue describing my personal history of being rejected by girls for years. Now many of the ones who wouldn’t give me the time of day thought I was some sort of trophy to be obtained. I frankly told Mr. Daniels that Nancy Biltmore was among the worst offenders, and she deserved every insult from me that I could spew.
Mr. Daniels stared at me with a kind and understanding expression on his face. He remained silent for a few seconds before he remarked, “It sounds like you have every right to be angry, Stefano. I can hardly blame you for giving Nancy both barrels. Actually, I only wanted to speak to you about using the word ‘hell’ in such a loud voice. I just wanted to remind you that some teachers here might consider it profanity. I wasn’t going to pass judgment on what you were saying or why you were saying it. Thanks for being so forthright, though, Stefano. Have a good night; I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I hope you are calmer then.”
Part Three
I took my time walking the seven blocks to my home, which required me to stroll by the Biltmores’ house. About a minute later when I entered my home through the side door, my mother said that she too needed to have a chat with me. She explained that she had just gotten off the telephone with Mrs. Biltmore who was annoyed that her daughter was upset by how rudely I had spoken to her! During the interval from when I said goodbye to Mr. Daniels to when I entered my house, I had regained my usual calm and gentle demeanor, but my mother’s information quickly set me off again. I told her why I was upset with a certain neighbor girl who three times had failed to show up for my birthday parties and didn’t think it was a big deal at all.
“Oh, I see!” said my mother. “I had forgotten about that.”
“I never have—and I never will!” I insisted, indicating that I was finally getting some things off my chest that had greatly bugged me for years.
Mom nodded and said, “I’ll call Mrs. Biltmore back and explain why you were angry. I suspect Nancy left that important part out.”
“Yes, please, call her—but let me do most of the talking,” I insisted.
Mom agreed and dialed the number. Mrs. Biltmore answered. My mother said I wanted to speak to her and handed me the phone. I said, “If Nancy or you are expecting an apology, neither of you will get one—and here’s why…” Then I basically repeated the same vitriolic monologue I had given Mr. Daniels 30 minutes earlier. I also told her that she had raised her daughter to be a narcissistic shrew, which I thought was a fitting remark to end the conversation before I abruptly hung up on her.
My mom looked at me. She was smirking. I guess on some level she was proud of me for finally telling Nancy off for her shoddy behavior in the past. The only thing she said to me was, “Narcissistic shrew?”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “You know I love words, Mom. Besides, if the shoe fits…”
Part Four
By the time I was 14 I was well known in my eighth-grade class to be something akin to a misogynist. Even my teacher, Mr. Korman, noticed it. One day before class began, he was curious enough to ask me why I disliked girls so much. I gave him a condensed version of my negative experiences with females my age and said my attitude should not be surprising under the circumstances. Mr. Korman opined that I might be making a mistake by “tarring all girls with the same brush”. I conceded he might be correct, but I added, “Sir, if you’ve been beaten up five times in your life, and each time it had been by someone with red hair and freckles, wouldn’t you be leery about such people?”
“You do have a way with words, Stefano,” he told me before shooing me away.
About a week later, my longtime friend Paul Corbett asked me if I’d be attending the school dance that Friday. I thought his inquiry was patently ridiculous given my contempt for females. “I’d rather shave my head with a cheese grater,” I told him.
“I fully understand why you have a low opinion of girls, Stefano, but maybe you are approaching this issue in totally the wrong way,” Paul said.
I asked him to elaborate.
Paul explained, “You must realize that you are a very handsome guy—certainly better looking than I am—who could easily get twenty dates for Friday’s dance if you wanted. So, if you really want to take revenge on the entire female gender at our school, why don’t you exploit them for your own pleasure? Show up at the dance, tell any girl who approaches you that you are only interested in sex—not dancing—and if she’s interested, she could go to a quiet spot with you in the school yard for a session of fucking! When you’re done with her, promptly tell her to take a hike.”
I honestly couldn’t tell if Paul was serious or not, but the idea fascinated me. “Maybe you have a good idea there, my friend. I’ll consider it!” I did. That Friday night, my parents, knowing my general dislike of the opposite sex, were both amazed that I was attending a dance for the first time in my life. I explained, “I’m just testing a theory”—and left it at that. I showed up at Friday’s dance well groomed, well dressed, and unaccompanied.
Part Five
My presence at the dance created a bit of a sensation. I had been told by Paul that I was known among the females at our school as “the girl magnet who hates girls.” Therefore, I was completely unexpected to show up at a school dance. It did not take long for me to put Paul’s lascivious plan to the test. Before the first record was played by the deejay, I was approached by Arlene Kaden, a petite blonde girl whom I tried to befriend when we were both seven years old. I recalled that she rejected me in about five seconds. When she asked me if I wanted to have a dance with her, I said, “Arlene, I don’t dance. I’m a lousy dancer. I am interested in sex, though. If you want to have a screw with me, we could sneak outside to that secluded, grassy area near the teacher’s parking lot and fuck like rabbits.”
I waited for Arlene to storm off angry, slap my face, or tell me to do something physically impossible. Not one of those things happened. Instead, Arlene softly said, “Okay, Stefano. Let’s go outside and do what you suggested.” Apparently quite eager to have sex with me, Arlene took me by the hand through the large gym doors and outside into the warm May evening. I noticed Paul in the distance and gave him a thumbs-up. He instinctively knew what that meant and broke into a huge smile. I think I saw him laugh, too.
Our school, which had students from kindergarten through the eighth grade, had a peculiar V-shape because of its many additions to the main structure since it was first opened in 1952. This led to it having some venues that were nicely hidden from public view. Arlene knew the spot I was referring to when I made my lewd suggestion. (I silently wondered if she had been there before with any other male classmates to enjoy carnal pleasures.) Arlene had a pleasing figure for a 14-year-old girl, which was a bonus for me. She was wearing a rather fetching yellow party dress that highlighted her feminine charms, but she didn’t have it on for long.
I was totally inexperienced at sex, but I had learned enough in health class and from my father’s chats regarding the basics to have a pretty good idea about how to proceed. I made a point out of removing Arlene’s bra and panties and laying her gently on the thick grass that was only occasionally mowed in this out-of-the way cranny. I disrobed in a matter of seconds, lifting my briefs over my full erection. I gave the shaft a couple of unnecessary tugs and then I joined Arlene on the soft grass. “Stefano, I’ve wanted to fuck you since the sixth grade,” she told me.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you since you asked me to dance five minutes ago,” I told her in return. Arlene giggled, probably thinking that I was joking, but it was a wholly accurate statement.
I placed myself atop her and we kissed for a few seconds, but I had no intention of making this a romantic encounter; I just wanted a good, angry fuck. I did make a point of sucking on Arlene’s nipples. They got hard in a hurry, which I don’t think was ever discussed in my boys’ health class. I used my right hand to fondle her pussy, which was hairier than I expected. Arlene yanked on my dick once or twice, which was a little bit painful because of the force she applied to it. As soon as I saw Arlene spread her legs, I shoved my dick inside her without the slightest hesitation. I heard her yelp. I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or enjoyment. I was certainly enjoying having my penis in this girl’s tight vagina. I remembered how she had rejected me as a kid—and I decided to eliminate any sort of subtlety. I rammed my dick in and out of her—it actually came out fully three times—for the next five minutes.
As I walked to the school that night, I went through several possibilities in my mind, including having a compliant girl let me ride her to an orgasm. I determined, as a typical, short-sighted, 14-year-old boy would, that I would ejaculate inside her for the ultimate act of revenge. As I felt my ejaculation mounting, I slowed down my thrusts noticeably, but made them stronger. “Don’t stop!” Arlene pleaded. “I like when you fuck me like this, Stefano.”
“Hey, I like it, too,” I managed to state before firing a huge load of semen inside this small blonde. I gave a contented groan with each of the four successive ropes of semen I unloaded inside my sex partner’s hot body. “That feels great!” I said. I meant that referring to the physical sensation, but I also enjoyed it on a mental level. This was payback for years of personal rejection. Paul’s idea had been a superb one! After my cum shot, I lied on top of Arlene for at least two minutes without moving, my dick still impaled within her. I only pulled out of her when I knew my penis was totally flaccid.
“Thank you, Arlene, for this lovely fuck,” I politely told her. We helped each other get dressed because there was very little light striking the nook where we had been screwing. We walked, hand-in-hand, back into the school gym. Arlene wrongly assumed I’d be her date for the rest of the night. A look of utter shock engulfed her face when I told her I would now be “seeking another dance partner.”
Part Six
It didn’t take long at all for the next one to emerge. Jenny Romano, a decidedly flat-chested girl with black hair that she always wore in a ponytail, asked me for a dance. I promptly gave her the same answer I had given Arlene some 20 minutes before. Her response was, “Are you serious?” When I told her I certainly was, she smiled and said with a smile, “That’s great! I’d love to fuck with you, Stefano. You’re such a good-looking guy!” We held hands as we walked out the door. This time I was sure Paul was laughing about how well his idea had worked out for me.
Jenny, who had failed to show for my eighth birthday party despite giving me a firm maybe, had no idea that I had just had a marvelous sexual romp with her classmate Arlene, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Instead, I simply shed my clothing a second time—and I disrobed Jenny, too. She had been wearing a pristine white dress that was absolutely gorgeous on her. I got hard very quickly. Jenny’s small tits were a terrific turn-on. Her areolas were small—or perhaps Arlene’s had been large. I was too inexperienced to know for sure. Jenny wore a beige brassiere that was basically for decoration only.
Life is great when you are a healthy teenage boy. Recuperative powers are wonderful. Still, I wanted to give myself as much time to prepare for intercourse session number two. Therefore, I bided my time by fondling Jenny’s little breasts and sucking on them. Jenny was amazed by my fixation. “I don’t have much there yet for you to enjoy, Stefano. I’m sorry about that!”
“Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for,” I replied. “It’s quality that counts—not size. I could play with your titties forever. They’re damn sexy to me!” Once I was fully erect again, I made a point of rubbing my penis against her nipples—just because I wanted to do so. Jenny giggled.
“Will you suck on it, please, Jenny? I’d like that!” I said hopefully.
“This is all new to me…but okay. Yeah, I’ll do that for you!” was her reply. Yay!
Of course, receiving fellatio was entirely a new experience for me. At that moment my entire life’s sexual experience had been my romp with Arlene less than an hour before. I quickly decided I liked getting a blowjob regardless of how inexperienced my partner might be. In fact, I feared she was getting too good at it, which put me at risk of ejaculating in her mouth. (I promised myself I would have to do that someday with some compliant vixen.)
“Time to fuck!” I announced. Just as I had done with Arlene, I set Jenny gently on the soft, lush grass in exactly the same spot where I had penetrated Arlene. I recalled how this flat-chested cutie had shunned me half a dozen years earlier. I placed my dick at the entrance of her vagina and shoved it in. Jenny noticeably gasped. It was obviously the first time she had screwed anybody. That revelation turned me on further—along with the sight of her barely-there boobs slightly jiggling as I gave her a rhythmic pounding.
“What a great pussy you have, Jenny!” I declared as I rode her with great vigor. I only lasted about three minutes before I came. I was pleased that three ropes of cum left my dick—which meant I had produced seven squirts in about 60 minutes. I was exhausted but happy. In the space of about an hour, two of my female classmates who once wanted nothing to do with me, were now in possession of loads of my semen and seemed to be glad about it. Revenge was fun.
As had been the case with Arlene, Jenny and I helped each other dress in the moonlight. I escorted her back into the gym. I didn’t say goodbye. I headed out the door. I didn’t care if two dozen other girls wanted to fuck with me that night—I was simply too tired to continue that fun activity. I went home with the intention of going straight to bed and sleeping contentedly as a victor. When I got home earlier than expected, I explained to my mom that my theory—which had actually been Paul’s—had been twice successfully proven.
Part Seven
When school resumed on Monday, I was fully rested—which turned out to be fortuitous. Girls inevitably talk, so word had gotten around via the grapevine that my brief appearance at the school dance had featured no dancing whatsoever in the gym, but well-founded rumors of erotic action in one of the grassy crannies outside the school. Wendy Allen, a sexy auburn-haired lass, had the courage to ask me if what she had heard was true, because if it was, she wanted a romp with me in the same place after school that day. I confirmed it was. We arranged to meet there about 20 minutes after the bell when there would be just about zero chance that anyone would see us screwing. Wendy had been another girl who had coldly rebuffed my friendship when I wasn’t a trophy date.
Wendy had the best figure of my three sex partners so far. Her pussy was especially appealing to me, so I performed cunnilingus for the first time in my life. I think I enjoyed it as much as Wendy did. She repaid the favor by giving me an excellent blowjob that included licking my testicles. My penis had never been harder in my life, but I wanted to suck on Wendy’s beautiful boobs for a long, long time before I got down to the basic biology of fucking her. They were great physical assets, round and firm, but still jiggly to the touch. It was Wendy’s idea for me to give her a titty fuck. I honestly had never heard of such a thing until she mentioned it—and explained what it entailed. I became an instant fan, although it would have been next to impossible to do this sex act if I had flat-chested Jenny Romano as my sex partner instead of Wendy.
“You know what comes next, Wendy!” I told her.
“Yeah, fuck me hard like you did Arlene!” she implored me.
“I knew what happened here on Friday would not be kept a secret,” I said two seconds before adhering to Wendy’s lustful wishes. I gave her an especially thorough screwing with long deep thrusts. I told her she was the sexiest girl in the whole school and that I wanted to fill her with my seed because she deserved it. That statement made her laugh, but I was absolutely serious. I rammed Wendy’s lovely vagina for seven or eight minutes with my throbbing rod, interrupting my penetrations just once because her bouncing tits were distracting me. I pulled out of her tight pussy to have another titty fuck for half a minute before resuming my business where it mattered the most.
I could feel a cum shot building. It felt like it was going to be a tremendous one, too. It was. I felt extreme pleasure in ejaculating inside our school’s most voluptuous girl—considering my general views on its female students. I remained on top of Wendy for quite a while, thrusting and poking, even as my dick became soft. All three classmates of mine that I had passionately screwed since Friday night certainly had their merits, but overall, Wendy was the best lay of the bunch. I told her she had given me a better fuck than either Arlene or Jenny had.
“You fucked Jenny Romano, too?” she asked me in amazement. “I only knew about your romp with Arlene Kaden because she’d been bragging about it…but Jenny hadn’t said a word.”
I had had my revenge on three girls who had once so casually dismissed me as insignificant. I can safely say not one of them knew why I had eagerly tried to fuck them. They likely didn’t even recall how rude they had once been to me. They wouldn’t ignore me any longer.
Just before high school was about to start in September, none of them could possibly ignore or avoid me—since they were all three months into pregnancies. I had a lot of explaining to do to four sets of irked parents, including my own.
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