[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. But isn't that the whole point of fantasies? With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
I do not practice nor do I condone any of the sexual acts about which I write, other than straight, heterosexual relationships. Beside the fact that most other forms of sexual behavior are illegal, I still don't judge consenting adults for their sexual preferences except where such behavior is hurtful/harmful to others, such as pedophilia.
None-the-less, many people have FANTASIES of such taboo laden behavior to achieve sexual gratification or whatever, but have no intentions whatsoever of carrying out such behavior in actual practice. That said, if I have struck a particular fantasy of yours, read and enjoy.
NOTE: in 2002 there appeared on this site, a similar story. I just thought it ended way, way too soon. The first part of this story follows very closely to that 02 story, but I've taken the story much, much further.
Ian McTavish ... seventh generation Irish immigrant & main character
Linda Sweater ... Wasp, prettiest girl in school, head cheerleaders
Miss Bridgette Lavoi ... International exchange teacher of French
Terri Meuse ... top female nerd of the senior class, but very pretty
Susan Sheets ... senior class female student infamous for her round heels
Ginger Spillman ... prcocious sophomore girl already on the senior cheerleading squad
I was day dreaming again. In French class no less. But I was day dreaming about the teacher of the class. In my daydream, I was admiring her svelte legs descending from her very short skirt. I was imagining her skirt slowing sliding down those very same legs with only a high cut bikini panty remaining below her waist.
She was pretty. No, she was beautiful. Better yet, she was absolutely, drop dead gorgeous. She was fantastically ravishing. And, she was French! Best of all, she was twenty-two years old--only four years older that I--and she was a Miss. Yes, I said she was a Miss.
Her name? Her name was Miss Bridgette Lavoi. She was an international exchange teacher spending my senior year in my high school teaching French.
A foreign language was a graduation requirement and I was taking my fourth year of the language even though only two years were actually required. I was aiming to be a translator in the diplomatic corps, so I would also be majoring in French in college.
"Mr. McTavish, are you paying attention?"
I should add, that almost all conversation in fourth year French was done in the French language. The fourth year students were expected to be quite fluent in the language and prepared to delve in the the complexities and the subtleties of that same language.
With a startled look, I immediately answered, "Yes, Miss Lavoi, I certainly am."
"You are certainly What, Mr. McTavish?"
"Why, Miss Lavoi, what I'm certainly paying attention to is the melodic way in which you pronounce your native language."
She couldn't help herself, Miss Lavoi blushed.
"Perhaps you would like to come to the front of the class and continue reading today's chapter of Madame Bovary?"
"Can you tell me the author of our novel for this nine-weeks, Mr. McTavish?"
"Certainly, Miss Lavoi, the author was Gustave Flaubert and the book was published in 1857."
"Remarkable, Mr. McTavish."
While I rose and ambled from my front row seat the few steps to the podium, the rest of the class snickered--especially snooty little Miss Linda Sweater the cheerleader captain. She sat in the seat directly across from me on the right. I'd drooled over her, from afar of course, for a very long time. I think I started drooling over her in seventh grade. Course, she didn't know I existed, except to tease now and then.
I read with a bit more than acceptable fluency. My eyes glanced at Linda (whom I called "Little Miss Snooty) as I tried to make eye contact with my audience. She slowly parted her knees, the motion causing me to drop my gaze in that direction. For the first time since Miss Lavoi tried to catch me off guard, I stumbled with my reading. I picked it right back up though.
Little Miss Snooty made a very light sneer. Her knees stopped moving. I finished a page, the class was supposed to be following along in their copies, and had just turned to top of the next page when my eyes caught Miss Snooty opening her knees even wider. Her white panties became visible, almost the whole damned crotch. The cameltoe was unmistakable.
"God, not now, I can't think of Miss Snooty Sweater now--or her white panties."
I thought I said that inside my head. But there was a very audible and collective gasp from the class as well as from Miss Lavoi behind me and then a pregnant silence. I didn't notice the silence at first because the class was supposed to be silent and following along in their books.
I also suddenly realized I sported a boner big enough that I couldn't hide it without being even more obvious. It turned into the biggest woody I'd ever come up with. At that, my jeans were quite baggy. I hated tight pants--at least on me. The tent grew.
Suddenly, I noticed the entire class was staring goo-goo eyed at me, jaws widely agape, and mouths in the round "Oh" shape. Several girls giggled and then several boys chuckled and in an instant, the entire class was roaring with laughter.
God, my boner's so damned big and sticking right in Miss Snooty Sweaters face. Can it be that obvious to everyone out there, can it? Was what I thought. The unspoken answer to that thought was, the damned hardon was indeed highly visible.
What I actually said was, "Whaaa," as I stumbled in my reading and stood silently still, looking totally perplexed.
From behind me came the voice of Miss Lavoi. She tried to be stern, but there was a mischievous smile to her voice.
"Mr. McTavish, you will immediately transport yourself to the principal's office with this note."
The class continued to laugh hysterically. Miss Snooty was showing a slight smile, but her face was red as a ripe strawberry and the flush disappeared down into her generous cleavage.
By then, I was also blushing and embarrassed, but outside of the aching boner, I still didn't know what had happened. Miss Lavoi walked around to me, handed me her quickly written note--sealed shut--and just pointed to the door.
With a pink expulsion slip, I was quickly admitted to the assistant principal's office. He was the one in charge of discipline and all things associated with such. He took the note, opened it, and read. He did a double take and read the short note a second time.
"Well, Mr. Mctavish, that was quite a little speech you just gave in French class."
"I don't understand, sir. I was just reading from our novel for this nine weeks."
"Is that so? Then why did you say..."
The assistant principle went on to quote nearly word for word what I had thought I'd only silently thought in my mind about Linda Sweater and her panties.
"My God," I gasped, "I only thought that."
"Well, according to this note, you actually spoke those words out loud."
"Jeeze, no wonder the class was roaring with laughter. I thought there was a different cause."
"But you did actually say that out loud."
"Well, I can understand why since Miss Lavoi told me what Miss Sweater was doin' right in front of you, but I can't let the incident go unpunished. I hope you understand that."
"Yes, sir, I can--understand the need for punishment that is."
"OK. Today is Friday. For the rest of today and for Monday and Tuesday, you are to serve an in school suspension with the ability to make up work missed in class."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're excused to go to the office workroom to begin serving your suspension, Mr. McTavish."
It definitely was Friday, but French class was my first period class. In effect, I'd been given a three day suspension--minus first period. I had time on my hands, time to think about myself.
Now, I was a high school senior and eighteen years old, a male, and with raging hormones of that age. But I was shy. I'd dated over the four years, but not much--usually a one time affair to a big dance or a special party--not much more. Perhaps it was that pentup frustration that had caused my fau paw in French class. Did I want more? You can darn well be that I did.
But wanting and getting are two entirely different things. That's especially true of a late developer who is shy, not sure of himself, and rabidly fearful of rejection. It would take some doing to undo all of that. Well, not as much as I'd of thought, as it turned out. Just one sexual conquest can do wonders for the male ego.
That night I got a phone call about 6:30
My twelve year old sister answered the phone. "It's for you Mr. Mac, my sister's pet name for me, and it's a G I R L, that's girl to you, no brains."
Her statement was followed by gales of twelve year old giggles. My sister's just the sweetest little thing.
I was answered by a female voice dripping with venom. But I immediately perceived it to be a false affectation.
.... There is more of this story ...