Chapter 1
I MAKE THE SCENE
Your Honor and Mr. Probation Officer:
By the time you get through reading this appeal for probation, you probably will feel as though you have just read one of those fantastically hyper-sexed novels so popular today. Unfortunately for some of those who may be embarrassed, I cannot rest with telling only a part of the circumstances which led me to my arrest, humiliation, and my presently uncertain future. In order to make my case clear to you, the probation officer and the judge, I must tell the full story, sparing no one-least of all my precocious charges.
I came to Fountainville two years ago after corresponding with Superintendent of Schools John Baxter and receiving a letter from him offering me a position as a teacher, to replace someone who had left. According to Mr. Baxter, I was to teach English I, II and III, as well as two classes in Current Events.
My teaching credentials were accepted by Baxter and the Board of Trustees and I was finally ready, in mid-term, for my first day of teaching at Fountainville Junior High School.
My previous experience, nearly fifteen years of it, had been in the rural Mid-West where most of my pupils were children of farmers or farm tenants. Most of the kids attended school during the day, ran home to finish their chores, did their homework and went to bed. On weekends, they attended a local dance or drove into town with their dates for a couple of hours of fun-and then Sunday School and church on Sunday morning.
During school hours, these kids worked hard, and there was very little nonsense because most of them feared what their parents would do if contacted by the school for some infraction of the rules or for not studying hard enough.
It was quite a shock to me, therefore, when I walked down the hall to my first class at Fountainville Junior High and witnessed the rowdyism, sexual liberty and one fist-fight. All this in about a 150 feet of crowded hallway?
Fortunately for me, an over-sized student monitor broke up the fight before I got to the scene, and the boys went their separate ways. The sexual incident, I thought, could have been just accidental or a figment of my over-active and prudish 50-year-old mind. It had appeared to me that one couple standing together by a row of lockers had vigorously rubbed their pelvises together before parting-but then I was a little nervous and I figured I might have been mistaken.
I introduced myself to the class, writing my name, Bruce Norman, on the blackboard. I checked the homework that was due and found it involved an oral book-report. Icalled on one of the boys to give his report to the class, and then I settled back in my seat, rested my elbows on my desk, and looked over my thirty-two charges. There were twenty-one girls and eleven boys in the class, a much larger group than I had been used to in my previous teaching-experience.
It seemed to me as I gazed around the room that every girl in the class was beautiful. Two of the girls wore glasses, but this did not detract from their obvious sex appeal. In the front row, facing my desk, there were two boys and four girls, and as I looked them over, I got an inkling what my life would be here on this new campus.
Most of the class was intent on the report being delivered by the young man standing next to my desk, but the two girls directly in front of me were ignoring the boy and studying me very carefully. Both of them were blonde and they could almost have passed for twin sisters. They were about the same height and build and they wore similar clothing. The similarity of their appearance caused me to look down at my student roster. One girl's name was Candace Simpkins and the other was named Stella Novack. No, they certainly weren't related, not with names so different.
I looked down at them again, and this time Candace caught my eye. She smiled broadly, winked and then she slowly spread her legs apart, offering me an unobstructed view of what was under her short skirt!
I could feel an urging in my groin and knew that my penis was beginning to react to the momentary scene. The next time I looked down at the front row, both Candace and Stella were staring intently at my bulging crotch.
Embarrassed, I crossed my legs, thanked the young man who had been speaking, and called on a girl from the back of the room.
That first class in English II was probably the longest fifty minutes of my entire life. I remember how I alternately perspired and chilled at the sight of what was under Candace's skirt. Try as I might, I could not keep my eyes from wandering back to it. Adding to my discomfort, Stella had now crossed her legs, hunched her body over to lean on her elbow, and in so doing had given me a near heart-attack. Her short skirt allowed me to see one entire thigh bared to the roundness of her buttock. A small segment of her panties could be discerned, and peeping out from it was a fuzzy-covered, red, raw-looking gash.
When the bell ending the class rang, I breathed a sigh of relief. I'm sure I could not have survived another ten minutes of that tantalizing sight without having a sexual climax right there at my desk. As it was, I couldn't get up until the entire class had left the room, and when I walked down the hall to my next class, I held my briefcase in front of me to hide the obvious bulge in my pants.
The rest of my day went normally, but I caught myself thinking about those two girls in English II every once in a while. Needless to say, it was a very nervous day for me and would have been a very nervous night had I not masturbated vigorously before going to sleep.
The routine in English II was exactly the same the following day and every day for the first week. I never stood up during class, and I'm sure many of the students probably thought I was either crippled or had a hole in my pants.
Unfortunately what my pants had was not a hole, but just the opposite. English II for me became just one fifty-minute erection every day. I knew I could have solved the situation by simply moving the girls to the back of the room. I could have, but I didn't-probably because I really enjoyed the torture of being vamped by these two 13-year-olds.
Monday morning of my second week at Fountainville, the teachers were called to a special meeting in the assembly-hall while the students were given a free period to loll around the campus. Mr. Baxter was on the stage and he stepped up to the microphone when we were all seated.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have called you all here to give you some news which I'm sure you will receive with mixed emotions. Last Friday night, the Board of Trustees voted to include in the curriculum of our junior high school, classes in Sex Education!"
Immediately a murmur went up from the gathering. As I looked around, however, I noted that only a few of the older teachers appeared to view this new situation with alarm. Most of the younger teachers were eagerly nodding their heads in agreement with the announced decision, and finally one young woman, extremely attractive at that, began to applaud. It took only a couple of seconds until nearly everyone in the auditorium was applauding.
"Well, I'm happy to see you are happy," Baxter went on, "because the board also refused to appropriate any additional funds for special instruction material or instructors!"
A loud groan went up from the audience.
"The board has instructed me to inform you that each of you shall devote one fifty-minute period per week in each of your classes to sex instruction. Now I know some students will be getting two or three classes per week by this method, but we find that this might not be too bad an idea. This will give the students a chance to learn more than one outlook.
"As you know from your attempts to get salary raises, there is a limited amount of funds to work with. I would suggest to each of you to keep track of any money you spend for books or materials if you feel you need them, and if there is any money left at the end of the school year, we may be able to pry it loose from the trustees."
"How far are we supposed to go with this sex-study?" one of the men in the front row inquired.
"I leave that to your discretion. Knowing junior high school students as I do, perhaps we teachers may wind up learning a few new things ourselves," Baxter laughed and the crowd joined in.
By noon the entire student-body knew of the plans to conduct coeducational sex classes. The halls were buzzing with giggles and whispers among the kids, and I began to wonder if perhaps Baxter was right. Maybe I couldn't really teach these young people anything about sex that they didn't already know. Perhaps, as he jokingly remarked, they could enlighten ME on a few things!
It had been a long time since I had actually cracked a book on the subject. After my divorce and subsequent bachelorhood, I had on a few occasions, sought female companionship, but most of the women I had bedded down with during these times were in their thirties or late twenties, and the sex I had experienced with them was just about the same type I had known with my wife before and after we were married. I wondered if I really was equipped with the knowledge to be an instructor in this field. But despite my misgivings, I found myself anticipating my first sex class.
The teachers' library at school had nothing of a sexual nature except the ordinary biology texts, so that evening I went to the main library in town and researched the subject. As I read the various volumes devoted to sex, I found myself growing excited over what I thought were new innovations in the field. At times I became actually embarrassed over what I was reading, and I'm sure I probably blushed at the frankness with which the authors of these books wrote.
While I pored over the volumes, someone took the chair across from me at the library-table. It was a very lovely young woman whom I immediately recognized as the teacher who had led the applause in the auditorium.
"Hi!" I whispered. "I see you're boning up on the subject, too!"
"Oh, yes, I recognize you." She leaned over the table and offered me her hand. "You're the new English and Current Events teacher, aren't you?"
Her hand was soft and warm and the cleavage she displayed as she leaned across the table rather unnerved me.
"I'm sort of surprised to see you here," she went on, pulling her hand out of my tight grasp. "I was sure all you married men would simply go home, discuss it with your wives and be all set for class the next dayf"
"I don't have a wife," I stammered, "and I guess I have a bad memory because I've discovered things in these books that absolutely astound me."
"Oh?" she inquired, reaching for one of the volumes. "May I look one of them over while you're perusing that one?"
"Be my guest," I replied almost flippantly. "But don't say I didn't warn you!"
I returned to the book I had been studying but I found myself glancing over the top of the book at my lovely co-re searcher. She was in her late twenties, about five-foot-six, and she had about 125 pounds that were distributed beautifully. Her brown hair framed a face that could easily have been taken for a movie queen's and she wore her clothing with impeccable taste.
I noticed that her eyes would get big every once in a while as she read some juicy description in a case history. I watched her intently then, forgetting my reason for being there. Her tongue came out of her mouth and she licked her lips over and over. Beneath the table, her leg touched mine as she crossed her legs, and soon she was unconsciously rubbing my thigh with her calf. I was sure my breathing became so heavy that the librarian in the next room would be able to hear, but this was probably only my imagination.
Gradually I found myself cooperating with her leg and rubbing back. I noticed a small sheen of perspiration appear over her upper lip, and her breathing was perceptibly heavier as was mine while I watched her.
I found myself surreptitiously reaching under the table to touch her knee with my hand. My touch must have startled her because she stopped reading and looked at me across the table. I wasn't sure just what her expression denoted, but I found out soon enough when she put her hand under the table, still looking at me, grasped mine, squeezed it, and then plunged it under her dress and halfway up her thigh.
I nearly lost my balance when she did this, and my chair scraped loudly on the shiny hardwood floor as I went forward. I suddenly became terrified and pulled my hand from her grasp, sat up straight and wiped my brow with the sleeve of my sports-j acket.
"Er ... ah ... perhaps we should go outside for a smoke," I suggested. "It's getting a bit warm in here, don't you agree?"
She closed the book she had been reading and reached over the table to whisper to me. I leaned forward to hear what she was saying.
"I'm smoking already!" she breathed. "For God's sake, let's get out of here!"
My car was right out in front of the building, and I offered to drive her home. She got in the passenger side and as I entered the driver's side to slide under the steering-wheel, I found her lithe body as close to me as she could get. Her hand went to my thigh and she rubbed it back and forth. To me it felt like a red-hot poker!
"You said you weren't married, but do you live alone?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered shakily. "All alone."
"Take me to your place then," she almost panted. "I live with my younger sister, and the things I have on my mind wouldn't be right for her to see or hear!"
I couldn't believe it! Here I was, a middle-aged, rather bashful square John, and I was being seduced by a beautiful young woman any man in his right mind would give a month's salary just to kiss. Her hand on my thigh kept moving and it finally came to rest on my penis, which by this time, was straining beneath my zipper. She fondled it for a moment and then slid the tab of the zipper down and buried her head in my lap.
My cock was suddenly in her mouth and she was giving me the most exquisite blow-job I ever had. I'm sure I had many a near-miss in traffic during the drive to my apartment, but we reached it safely. As a matter-of-fact, I blew my wad into her mouth just as I shut the motor off. She licked me clean, pushed my cock back into my pants, zipped me up again and then sat up and asked for a cigarette!
We leaned against each other in the self-service elevator and down the hall to my apartment. When we got inside, she pushed the door shut before I could touch it and then threw her arms around my neck, forcing her tongue into my open mouth while her pelvis ground against my cock.
Breaking the clinch, we separated and simply looked at each other for a minute and then we both seemed to go crazy! We tore our clothes off, and when we were naked, we fell to the floor as one. I could taste my own sperm as we kissed, but instead of becoming nauseated by the taste, I seemed to relish it.
She reached for my prick and then grasping me about the hips with her strong legs, she reared up to stab herself with my stiff lance.
We must have bounced on the floor for a half-hour before I was able to come again, but she had no difficulty in climaxing over and over. It seemed to me that she came at least ten times before I finally shot my load into her juicy sheath. Then we both passed out.
When we awoke, the sun was streaming into the room. I looked at my watch and saw it was just five a.m. We both scrambled up, looked at each other and then broke out into hearty laughter, leaning on each other for support.
We showered together, had a fast screw while standing in the shower, and then dressed. She phoned her sister to explain that she had stayed with a girl friend who was also a teacher, and then we sat and drank coffee until it was time to head, for work.
During our coffee-drinking I learned she was twenty-six years old, and lived with her 18-year-old sister. They were both single and their parents lived in Idaho. Her name was Claire Jackman and her sister's name was Christina or Tina.
We apologized to each other for our scandalous behavior the night before, but we both admitted that we probably needed the sexual outlet after reading those explicit texts. Then we drove to school.