Part One

When I was growing up, I, Johnny Sanderson, was one of the few students who would admit to liking school. The older I got, the more I liked it. Certainly, I was an above-average pupil and my grades reflected that, but there was more to it. In my final two years of high school, I could start to specialize in my favorite subjects; I no longer had to endure courses that did not particularly interest me. Once I had attained the minimum amount of math, foreign language, and science credits, I was delightfully done with them forever. I could now focus mostly on history, English and geography courses—three subjects I quite liked.

As an added bonus, most of my English classmates were also my history classmates, which led to pleasant familiarity. One of them was the delightful Janet Barelli, a girl whom I had quietly adored since the first day I entered high school. Janet was outright beautiful. She was the prettiest girl in the entire ninth grade. To me, there wasn’t even a close runner-up.

The demographics of my Canadian high school had about 80 percent of the students living within walking distance. Janet was one of the other 20 percent who rode a bus to and from school each day. She lived in a small town that was predominantly rural. I pleasantly noticed during the first week of high school that several of these “country girls” I was seeing for the first time were quite fetching. In my home room, for example, a girl named Valerie was assigned the desk directly in front of me. Valerie was a cute, petite, well-built blonde with an attractive smile. To use a phrase my father was fond of, Valerie "was easy on the eyes."  Nevertheless, despite her obvious good looks, even she didn’t measure up to Janet in my opinion.

There was something wonderfully magical about lovely Janet. Her height was about 5'6".  She was slim, like a dancer. She had a very pretty face surrounded by beautiful chestnut-brown hair that she invariably wore at shoulder-length. Janet was always well dressed and delightfully feminine in her daily appearance. She could have been a time traveler from the 1950s. Interestingly, Janet wasn’t especially busty. In fact, she would have been accurately described as small-breasted. It didn’t matter at all. Janet exuded perceptible beauty and class. There was just an appealing aura about her that was unique. Moreover, she was no dummy. She was smart enough to earn a spot on the school's honor roll every year. To me, Janet Barelli was the total package!

Of course, I wasn’t the only boy in the school who noticed Janet's plentiful charms. That fact became abundantly clear in the middle of February of my freshman year.

An annual custom at my high school occurred every Valentine’s Day. During the week preceding February 14, one could pay a small amount of money—I don’t think it ever exceeded 50 cents—to purchase a carnation for someone you fancied. On the morning of Valentine’s Day (or the closest school day to it) the flower would be delivered to the homeroom of the recipient and placed on his/her desk. None of the flowers ever came with cards, so they were basically anonymous gifts. Both boys and girls did the buying. I could count the number of carnations I received during my high school career on the fingers of one hand. In contrast, on Valentine’s Day of 1979, Janet Barelli’s desk was too small to accommodate the mountain of flowers she had gotten, presumably from literally dozens of smitten boys of all ages. I was told by one of her homeroom classmates that the sheer number of tokens of affection overwhelmed Janet to the point of tears. She had to scamper quickly to the girls’ washroom to compose herself. She apparently had no idea how popular she was for just being herself. (Such a cute, modest reaction was all the more reason to love her!) The same scenario occurred in 1980, 1981, 1982 and 1983. The pile of flowers delivered to her desk each Valentine's Day never got smaller.

Boys will be boys, of course. The subject of our lunchtime conversations in the cafeteria often drifted towards the various females in our school and their individual attributes. I recall one day a socially crude classmate made the huge mistake of saying something vulgar about Janet. The reaction of all the other boys within earshot was instant anger. This had never been discussed among us, but somehow, we all felt strangely protective and brotherly towards Janet. A close friend of mine rose from his chair, glared at the malefactor, and menacingly threatened to “punch the living daylights” out of him or any boy who ever said such a thing about our school’s real-life angel. He was serious. The vulgarian quickly moved to another table.  He never dared to sit with us at lunch again—a development which greatly pleased me.

Part Two

In those days, academically advanced students in my area of Canada had five years of high school. During my final semester, when I was 19 years old, Janet Barelli sat in the desk in front of me in my world history class. She was still as beautiful as ever—perhaps more so. I don’t know if it was the type of soap, shampoo or fragrance she used, but day after day Janet even smelled beautiful. One Monday when her lovely scent wafted backwards toward me, I mustered the nerve to tap her on the shoulder and tell her, “Janet, whatever perfume you have on today is absolutely heavenly. I just thought you’d like to know.”

She flashed me a smile and sweetly said, “Thank you, Johnny. What a lovely comment for you to make! I appreciate it. Honestly, I think it’s just the shampoo I use.” Then she turned around to face the blackboard as class was about to begin. It occurred to me that, excluding a few rare times when we were slotted into the same groups for classwork projects, I had never had any sort of personal conversation with this beautiful angel who was sitting in the desk in front of me.

Good fortune blessed me that same day. Our history teacher came up with a creative assignment for us. We had to select two historical figures from a list of about 50 famous names that Mr. Ferguson had jotted on the blackboard—and write an amusing 1,000-word conversation that the pair might have. This type of assignment was absolutely in my wheelhouse.  It combined both of my biggest strengths: creative writing and historical knowledge.

I was already starting to ponder which two historical figures I would choose when Mr. Ferguson announced an important detail. “Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I want you to work in pairs on this assignment because we haven’t done much group work so far in this class. Feel free to choose a partner. If you can’t find one on your own, I will find one for you.”

I never liked working in pairs or groups in school because only on rare occasions was the workload shared equitably. I always ended up doing more than my fair share of the work to bring it up to my standards. I was silently cursing that fact when the beautiful Janet turned around again to say to me, “Do you want to pair up for this assignment, Johnny?” All of a sudden, I had no objection whatsoever to working as part of a twosome. I couldn’t say yes fast enough!

Janet and I put our heads together—figuratively only, sadly—to choose Henry Ford and Karl Marx from Mr. Ferguson’s list of names. We both realized that a conversation between the father of communism and an ultra-capitalist had great potential! It was also fortunate that Janet and I both had a spare period right after lunch each day so we could spend about 70 minutes at the school library working together on this fun assignment. Janet, to my chagrin, told me this was the main reason she asked me to be her partner. The secondary reason was that I was an excellent writer and history student. That actually hurt my feelings and disappointed me. I was truly hoping it had been for completely non-scholarly reasons.

Be that as it may, Janet and I arranged to meet in the school’s library during our shared spare period the next day to work on our joint assignment. I immediately looked forward to it.  It turned out to be great fun! Janet had the same acerbic sense of humor that I had—and we both knew enough about Ford and Marx that we didn’t have to do much research on either one of them. Our first 1,000-word draft was done inside of an hour. Since we had a full week to complete it, all we had to do was just polish it up over the next few days. So that's what we did. It was obvious to both of us that if we didn’t get an A+ on this paper, Mr. Ferguson needed his head examined.

Halfway through our spare period on Thursday, we had finalized our work—which was due on Monday. That left us with half a spare period and a full one the following day. I was not interested in telling Janet that we no longer had to meet together, so I decided to boldly take the initiative and do something that went completely contrary to my reserved character: In no uncertain terms I was going to tell Janet Barelli that I adored her—and let the chips fall where they may. It was really now or never, because Janet was already starting to pack her books, binder and pencil case into her knapsack.

“Janet, please don’t go yet. I want to talk to you,” I said somewhat pleadingly.

Janet looked at me oddly and said, “Sure, Johnny, I can stay. There's nowhere I have to go until my English class starts. What do you want to talk about?”

I took one deep breath, then another, then a third. I was in the midst of a panic attack. Janet became alarmed.

“Are you alright, Johnny? It looks like you’re having trouble breathing. Do you need medical help?”

I composed myself long enough to laugh and assure her I was completely healthy. About 20 seconds later I regained my composure and tried again.

“We’ll be graduating soon, Janet,” I began. “Stupid me. I really should have told you this five years ago.” I could feel another panic attack coming on, so I blurted out, “I absolutely adore you. You are the most beautiful girl in this school. You always have been. Okay, I love you, Janet! I’ve loved you since the first day of the ninth grade...and I always will.” Then I loudly exhaled.

Janet just stared at me with a bit of a blank expression. I didn’t know how to interpret it.

“You can go now if you wish, Janet,” I informed her. “I took me all those years to say it, but I finally got that off my chest. I think my pulse rate is getting back to normal, thank heavens. I’m too young to have a heart attack.”  Then I loudly exhaled again.

Janet was nearly speechless after hearing my heartfelt confession. All she could muster was, “Johnny, why...this is...how could you not...you should have...we could have. Aw, hell...”

That was the first time I had ever heard Janet say anything close to a curse word. I was about to tell her that when she suddenly rose from her chair, embraced me, and gave me a world-class kiss. It was a passionate smooch that couldn’t help but draw the attention of the handful of other students in the library—along with the stodgy librarian, Mrs. Kleinfeld.

“Excuse me, you two!” she shouted at us. “This is not the place for that sort of thing...and you both know it!”

When I disengaged from Janet’s lips—something I hated to do, of course—I felt compelled to answer. “Sorry, I didn’t know kissing was against the rules here. No one has ever kissed me in the library before!”

“Yes, it certainly is against the rules, Johnny and Janet,” Mrs. Kleinfeld sternly informed us. “And just look who’s doing it—two of the very best students in the entire school!”

Janet was more apologetic than I was. “Sorry about that, Mrs. Kleinfeld,” she sheepishly said. “It won’t happen again.”

Seeing an opportune moment for a bit of levity, I shouted, “What! I want to do it again right now!”

Several students laughed. Janet tried to be angry with me, but she started laughing, too. Even Mrs. Kleinfeld chuckled at my remark.

Janet sensibly advised me, “Let’s continue our discussion somewhere else, Johnny.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “This is by far the greatest discussion I’ve ever had with a female classmate.”

We took our conversation outdoors to a secluded area near the teachers’ parking lot. Janet surprised me by saying, “Before Mrs. Kleinfeld so rudely interrupted us, I think this is what we were saying!” Then we continued our long kiss. It was wonderful.

I wanted to extend it indefinitely, but Janet put her hand up and prevented it. “We really do need to talk, Johnny. This is so sad!”

I was thoroughly confused, but I figured this came with the territory when the girl you’ve adored for nearly five years suddenly kisses you like there is no tomorrow.

This time it was Janet who took a few deep breaths before she explained something to me. “Johnny, your speech in the library...That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I just loved it. I’ve always thought highly of you too, Johnny, but I just didn’t have the confidence to tell you.”

I was shocked.  “You must be kidding me, Janet,” I told her.

“No, not at all,” she firmly insisted. “Johnny, you are very likable in so many ways: You’re smart, funny, talented, good-looking and a pleasure to be around. When I was stammering there like an idiot, I was trying to tell you I wish you had been open about your feelings years ago. It could have led to great things between us. We are very much alike.”

My ego was flying at an all-time high. I said, “Janet, that is very nice of you to say—supremely nice, in fact—so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I’ve had a boyfriend for about four weeks. Stephen is 20 and he attends university. I met him at a church function not long ago. He’s the first boyfriend I’ve ever had in my life.”

The second part of that news staggered me. “You’re telling me that someone who is as totally gorgeous and beautiful as you are has never had a boyfriend until about a month ago.  I find that hard to believe!”

Janet nodded and said, “Yep. Think about it, Johnny. Have you ever seen me hand-in-hand with any boy here or anywhere else?”

I had to admit that I hadn’t.

Janet continued, “I’m a naturally shy person, so I could never approach any of the boys here whom I like. You would definitely be one of them.”

I interrupted her to say, “Janet, I think you are so beautiful that you scared off every boy in this school. We all think you are out of our league.”

Now Janet was crying. It was a strange mixture of emotions that were engulfing her—and it was the only way she knew how to react. She took a moment to compose herself.  She then ruefully told me, after just a month of being with Stephen, she believed that he was her true soulmate. I couldn't help but frown ever so slightly.  “Maybe you could be my standby guy in case it doesn’t work out,” she suggested.

I didn’t know if she was serious, but I said, “Okay, Janet. That’s the ideal plan. I’ll be your standby guy forever. I might be happily married to someone else, and be the father of six kids, but if I hear you’re available, I’ll merrily ditch the bunch of them and run off with you at a moment’s notice.”

Janet laughed and said, “That’s what I like best about you, Johnny. You have a great sense of humor; you are a wonderful kidder.”

I smiled, but I wasn’t sure If I was kidding or not.

We briefly held hands and I asked Janet to meet me in the library again during our spare period on Friday. Our combined work on the history assignment was done, but I just wanted to continue our conversation about each other. Janet eagerly agreed. Before we headed in separate directions, I told her with a grin, “Try to control yourself tomorrow, Janet. We don’t want to upset old Mrs. Kleinfeld.”

Part Three

We were at the same table in the library on Friday afternoon. Mrs. Kleinfeld gave us a bit of a dirty look but, via some creative gesturing, I think I successfully relayed the idea that there would be no overt kissing between Janet and me that day.

We had learned in history class earlier in the morning that Mr. Ferguson had decided to expand the two-person historical conversations to something akin to theatrical performances. Each twosome would now read the lines of their conversation aloud in front of the class, with each person acting as one of the two famous figures. Janet decided that I would be Henry Ford while she would be Karl Marx.

“I think you are closer to Henry Ford politically than I am,” Janet explained.

I concurred, saying to her, “Well, I’m certainly no damn communist!”  I then added with a smile, "The problem is you are far too pretty to be either Ford or Marx."  My compliment made her blush for a moment.

We read through our lines just once.  We were fully confident we had created a winning project.  With that mission accomplished, we resumed our heart-to-heart talk from the day before.

I tried to start with some humor. “I still love you, Janet. Ditch your boyfriend and let's run off somewhere immediately.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that, Johnny,” Janet countered with an endearing smile. “I love Stephen. He’s a great guy. You’d probably like him, too.”

“I’m sure I’d like him,” I said. “But I have to hate him. He’s ruining my love life.”

“Uh, we don’t have a love life, Johnny,” Janet accurately pointed out. “I didn’t know until this time yesterday that you had any feelings for me at all.”

“It doesn’t matter, Janet,” I insisted. “You know now. I’ve loved you since the first day of ninth grade when I saw you enter Mrs. Kennedy’s geography class. You were beautiful inside and out. I’ve loved you from afar for the better part of five years. I’d like to add another 55 years to that. Ditch Stephen and that can happen.”

Janet tried to scold me. “You are making this very complicated, Johnny!” she said.

“Good!” I exclaimed. “I’m planting the seeds of doubt in your mind.” I paused for a moment and added a few more thoughts. “One thing to consider, Janet dear: That was one terrific kiss you plastered on me yesterday. There was nothing phony about it. You can’t fake that kind of emotion and passion. Just think about what could have and should have happened to us If I had told you my feelings just six or eight weeks ago, before Stephen entered your life. We’d be one very happy couple right now.”

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, as my words had caused her to reconsider everything. Then Janet made me an extraordinary offer. “Johnny, tomorrow is Saturday. Come to my house at 3 p.m. No one else will be home besides me. We can run through the lines of our project a couple of times and then spend some time romancing as if Stephen didn’t exist. That way I will better know if I should be with you or him. Fair enough?”

“Deal!” I said quickly.

“Okay, it’s a deal, then,” Janet agreed. She extended her right arm to shake my hand. She broadly smiled and said, “Johnny, we’ll be doing more than just shaking hands tomorrow.”

Part Four

I had no car, so I had to be driven to Janet’s house the next day by my father. It was only a 25-minute trip to her home in the boonies, but we left more than an hour early because I wanted to purchase a few gifts for my dream girl: a bouquet of flowers, a box of gourmet chocolates, and a bottle of red wine. Dad was completely startled by my shopping list. “What’s all this, Johnny?” he asked me when he saw what I had bought. “I thought you were going to this girl’s house to complete a history project. This looks like a romance starter kit to me.”

“Well, Janet and I are finishing the preparation work for our history assignment that's due on Monday. That’s true,” I stated. “But I have a secondary project, too: I intend to marry this girl someday. So, yes, Dad, what you see here is a romance starter kit. I like that term, by the way.”

I spent the rest of the ride explaining how I’d loved Janet from afar since the first day of high school and how we just recently found out that there was at least some significant level of mutual attraction.

Dad was usually a great kidder, but he was very serious throughout this one-sided conversation—a rarity for him. When I finished my monologue, he said, “Son, it sounds like you wasted more than four years. You should have been far more proactive in pursuing this girl. You’ve always had good judgment, years ahead of your peers, Johnny. Is this girl really as terrific as you make her out to be?”

“Dad...she’s a goddess,” I replied as we turned into the driveway to Janet’s home.

“Good luck with your goddess, Johnny,” Dad said when I opened the car door. “Call me when you want to be picked up. If you don’t call me until tomorrow morning, I’ll be thrilled for you. Your mother might not like it, though.”

Part Five

I arrived about ten minutes early, but Janet saw the car in the driveway and opened the front door. Dad lingered long enough to get a quick glimpse of the beautiful, teenage girl who had utterly captivated his son.  Janet was totally surprised and delighted by my armload of gifts for her. I put everything on the kitchen table and then I was ambushed when I turned around. Janet kissed me with the same passion she had in the school library on Thursday.

“There’s no fussy, old, killjoy librarian to stop us today,” I noted.

“Exactly!” Janet concurred. “But we might as well go over the lines of our history project one more time. I think Henry Ford and Karl Marx would like to debate each other over a glass of red wine. Don’t you agree?”

We sat beside each other on a couch...and that’s what we did—after Janet put her flowers in a vase. “Reading quotations from Karl Marx while drinking wine at least makes his drivel palatable,” I declared.

“You've definitely got an edge over Stephen in the humor department, Johnny,” Janet informed me. “Let’s open the box of chocolates. They look scrumptious.”

“It’s supposed to be very erotic when you feed sweets to your lover, Janet,” I said.

“Oh, is that a fact?”

“Indeed, it is, Janet,” I noted. “Let me demonstrate with this butter cream. Open wide.”

I placed the chocolate on Janet's tongue and watched it start to melt. Janet fed me a chocolate with an orange-flavored center and did the same thing.

“I think you’re absolutely right about this, Johnny,” Janet happily declared. “It must be some psychological thing because I’m getting turned on as we speak!”

We did very little talking after that. It was all a bit of a blur. We did a lot of kissing and embracing. I wasn’t entirely sure how far Janet intended us to go that afternoon, but I decided to take a chance. I unbuttoned the top button on her yellow blouse. She did not object. I took that as a sign to proceed with the other five buttons. Janet lifted my sweater from my torso. Then she stopped for a moment and said softly in my left ear. “I so want to do this, Johnny, but I’m a virgin. Please be gentle with me.”

“How else would I treat a goddess?” I told her. “By the way, Janet, if you really are a virgin, Stephen is a fool.” I kissed her on the cheek...and removed her white lacy bra.

“They’re not exactly whoppers, are they?” Janet jokingly said about her undersized assets.

I answered, “It’s quality that counts, not size. Anyway, I don’t love you because of your bra size, Janet. It’s the whole package of Janet Barelli that I love.” Of course that didn’t stop me from caressing, fondling and sucking on her breasts. I had never been more sexually aroused in my entire life. After all, how often does one get to make love to a teenage goddess?

Janet insisted on disrobing me. My equipment was at least in the average range--and it was on full alert. Despite allegedly having no experience in pleasing a male sexually, Janet did all right. Actually, it was more than all right. A few gentle tugs and a series of licks brought me on the verge of ejaculation. “Stop right there, Janet,” I advised her. “I don’t want to come just yet.”

Janet was still clothed from the waist down, but she corrected that quickly. I had hoped to remove her pale pink undies myself in a sexy manner, but she just stripped them off. I caressed her pussy with my right hand for a few moments. I could tell that act was pleasing her immensely, but I knew I had to get back to the essential business. I sat on a stool, with my hard dick pointing skyward and said, “Climb aboard, Janet.” She did. The feeling was awesome. I lifted her up and down on my shaft about a half dozen times. I was about to explode, so I pulled out and fired a load of semen that mostly struck the area between her navel and the start of her pubic hair.

“Oh wow!” Janet exclaimed. “This is a new experience for me, Johnny. That felt superb. Is this all new for you, too?”

I was honest. I said no but I did not elaborate much. I could count my previous sexual conquests on one hand. Most of them had occurred in middle school with a promiscuous tween girl who was rumored to have bedded half the male students enrolled there. I did say, “Janet, the few others were just mere sex acts. The difference is I love you.”

We spent the next two hours in Janet’s bed copulating to our hearts’ content. I was careful not to come inside my goddess. (Lord knows I wanted to!) My second orgasm occurred when I fucked Janet doggie-style while standing at the end of the bed. I managed to pull out with just seconds to spare. Janet told me she very much liked the feeling of a cum shot landing on her lower back. I managed one final blast of goo when I mounted Janet for standard missionary-position intercourse. I enjoyed this interaction the most. It was extremely sexy watching Janet’s small breasts jiggle as I passionately rode her. This time I made a point of pulling out in time to come on her sexy little tits.

“I can die a happy man, Janet,” I told her. “This is the greatest day in my life. I love you more than ever. Dump your boyfriend, please."  I paused for a moment to ask her, "So, where is Stephen today?”

“I don't think I mentioned to you that Stephen is on his school's volleyball team,” she informed me. “They are competing at a big tournament 100 miles away.  He will be away for most of the weekend, Johnny. You don’t have to worry about Stephen walking through the doorway unexpectedly today.”

I shrugged and said, “Even if he did, I wouldn’t mind. No one will ever make love to you, my sweet Janet, with the same intensity as I did today.”

Janet was quick to point out, “I think he’d mind, though."  She paused for a few seconds and then added, "Johnny, he’ll never know this happened between us. I promise.”

It was past 8 p.m. when I called home for a ride. I hade made love to my dream girl for more than five hours.

Part Six

Janet and I did indeed get an A+ from Mr. Ferguson and a long round of applause from our peers for our Marx-Ford duet act that Monday. After class was dismissed, Janet said she wanted to talk to me during our spare period. She told me to meet her at our usual table at the school library. I sensed I wouldn’t like what she was going to tell me.

When I got there, we did sneak a quick kiss while Mrs. Kleinfeld had her back turned to us, but Janet was all business after that.

“Saturday was wonderful, Johnny. I’ll never forget it. That’s a given...but I’m staying with Stephen.”

I accepted Janet’s decision. I told her, “Hey, I gave it my best shot. Actually, it was three shots.”

Janet just shook her head at my little joke before explaining that she and Stephen had a special something between them. I told her she did not need to elaborate.

“Just remember I’m your forever backup, Janet, your number-two guy,” I reminded her. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Janet and Stephen eventually did get married.  Janet became employed in the medical research field.  Stephen Woodfield became an architect who specialized in designing bridges.  I met him for the first time when Janet brought him along to our graduating class’s tenth anniversary reunion in 1993.

At that shindig, which was held in a hotel ballroom, Janet spotted me before I spotted her. She called my name and waved me over to meet her husband.  A decade had passed since I had last seen her, but Janet's beauty at age 29 had not diminished one iota.  She was still every bit as lovely as she had been during her high school heydays.  I kissed Janet on the cheek and she returned the favor, Stephen or no Stephen.

Janet happily introduced me to her spouse of seven years.  “Stephen, this is one of my favorite classmates, Johnny Sanderson.  Every year he always seemed to be in my history and English classes.  We worked on a few group projects together.  Remember the Henry Ford-Karl Marx conversation we had to write for Mr. Ferguson's world history class, Johnny?”

“Of course, I do,” I cheerfully said.  “That was great fun!  We got an A+ on that project.  I recall it was a big hit with Mr. Ferguson and our classmates.  Somewhere in a filing cabinet at home I still have my copy of it."

I turned toward Stephen and stated, "Janet and I spent a lot of time and energy preparing for that assignment.  It was the last one before graduation, I believe.  I even spent a whole Saturday afternoon at her house working on it with her.  Remember that day, Janet?  I was the envy of all my friends.  Janet was always a very popular girl.  I can attest that everybody liked her.  I was no exception.  You are a lucky fellow to have married her...very lucky, indeed.”

Oblivious to everyone else in the crowded ballroom, the three of us must have talked for 20 minutes straight.  Janet had been right in June 1983:  Stephen was a nice fellow.  I liked him.  But I hated him.