Part One

Over the past decade or so, there seems to have been an epidemic of reasonably young female teachers, primarily located in the USA, being caught having illegal sexual relationships with male students—some of them not even yet old enough to be enrolled in high school. The general response to these women being arrested falls into two distinct categories: (a) shock and disgust; or (b) where were these teachers when I was that age?

I have to admit I chuckle when I see sociology experts (from option “a”) claiming with authority that these victimized young males who have been “abused” in this way will suffer lifelong effects and will unquestionably be “traumatized” by their experiences. Long before the days of social media existed, when I was a pupil at a suburban high school in central Canada, I was one of those terribly unlucky males who was preyed upon by an evil but amorous and attractive female teacher. In other words, I got to have sex with an experienced, desirable woman and I was totally and enormously happy about it. Traumatized? No way!

My name is Grant Pearson. When I was in my senior year during the 1977-78 academic year, I had an English teach named April Pendleton.whom I would get to know quite intimately. I would estimate that Miss Pendleton (she was unmarried) was about 32 years old at that time when we had our memorable tryst. She wasn’t a striking beauty, but she certainly wasn’t unattractive, either. She was about 5’5” tall and sported a head of curly brown hair. She experimented with various hairstyles throughout the year. She actively sought my class’s opinions regarding which specific styles we thought looked best on her. (I never once had a male teacher be even slightly concerned about his students’ views on his personal grooming habits!) Few boys ever made comments to Miss Pendleton on that topic, but the girls in my class often did with alacrity. Moreover, she often followed their advice.

I was one of the better students in the school. I always loved to read; that was my primary hobby. I adored the English language for its words and subtleties. It made perfect sense that I enjoyed clever puns, and I thought limericks were absolutely hilarious. I was easily the best writer in my class. Where I got this love for English is anybody’s guess. Nobody in my family’s recent history had ever truly excelled academically, nor had they advanced beyond high school to college or university. I was clearly going to be the first one. My lone sibling, a sister who was two years my junior and an excellent student herself, would likely be the second.

Miss Pendleton's class was the last one in the morning for me. One day about a month into the school year, as she was dismissing us for lunch, Miss Pendleton specifically asked me to stay for a few minutes. I had no idea what she wanted to talk to me about. I hadn’t misbehaved at all and I had no assignments that were overdue. I walked to her desk slightly perplexed and concerned.

Miss Pendleton noticed the worry on my face. She put me at ease, quickly stating, “Grant, there’s no need for you to look so nervous. Nothing is wrong. In fact, I have good news for you! I’ve only been teaching you for about a month, but I can tell you are excellent in all the various aspects of English: reading, writing, spelling, grammar, composition, and literature. You ought to be proud of yourself.”

I thanked her for the unexpected compliment, then she continued. “Next year, when you go to college, I truly think you might benefit by attending one of the schools for gifted writers. Have you ever thought about this possibility, Grant?”

I honestly hadn’t and I told her so.

“There are some schools for gifted students that exist to focus on students’ strengths,” she insisted. “There are likely some that would help you hone your writing skills. I have some information at my home on many such schools that I’ve collected over the years. With my help, you might find an ideal school for you to become a truly great writer.”

I still wasn’t sure I wanted to go to a special college, despite its positive attributes. However, I also figured it couldn’t hurt to look at school brochures and whatever else Miss Pendleton had. She lived in a small community just outside of the city where I lived and where my century-old former middle school was located. During the lunch period, she telephoned my mother and basically repeated what she had told me about how I ought to exploit my potential by perhaps attending a special school for gifted students when next September rolled around. She offered to drive me to her place at the end of the school day to examine various brochures and then drive me back home. Mom saw nothing wrong with Miss Pendelton’s offer. Even I had no suspicions that this might be some type of a ruse. With Mom’s blessing, I agreed to meet Miss Pendleton in the teachers’ parking lot at the end of the day.

Part Two

We chatted pleasantly during the 25-minute ride to Miss Pendleton’s home. She stated how impressed she was with my writing vocabulary. (She told me she had to look up two words I had used recently in written assignments—schadenfreude and fanfaronade—to find out their precise meanings.) She also said my command of English was well above the average of my classmates.

“That’s not saying much,” I quipped. I was being totally honest. There weren’t many future Ivy League scholars among my peers in her English class. Miss Pendelton laughed. She thought it was another good example of my sarcastic humor.

When we got to her home, Miss Pendelton put my jacket in her closet and directed me to her kitchen table. She offered me a cold soft drink, which I accepted. She poured herself one, too, and brought out a stack of glossy brochures from several schools. A lot of them were pricy private institutions, which I said would certainly be beyond the reach of my family’s modest budget. That eliminated about three-quarters of my options very swiftly. There were only two or three schools that were at least partially publicly funded and heavily focused on writing skills. I asked to borrow those brochures for a few days so I could show them to my parents for possible consideration. That was not a problem.

“Well, that took far less time than I imagined it would,” Miss Pendelton informed me. Then with a devilish smile, she unexpectedly said to me, “Grant, before I drive you back home, I really crave a relaxing shower. Would you care to join me?”

I honestly thought I had misheard her. “What did you say, Miss Pendelton?” I asked her in disbelief. The expression on my face must have been one of bewilderment.

Miss Pendelton coolly repeated her question—and insisted that I should be less formal with her and call her by her first name: April.

I said nothing for a long time. I was trying to process what was happening. Such a situation was definitely a first in my sheltered lifetime. I was certainly considering the sexy offer that had suddenly been dropped onto my lap.

Miss Pendelton finally broke the awkward silence. “Grant,” she said in a firm voice, “I’m a single woman in my early thirties. I enjoy having sex, just like all other women my age do. However, I have a fetish for fucking with young males. That is my preference; it always has been. You're 18, right? Grant Pearson, you fit that demographic perfectly. That’s why I offered you a chance to join me in my shower today. It’s entirely up to you, of course. If you say no, I’ll accept that—but I would be surprised. Not many boys your age turn down a chance for sex with an adult woman.”

I could tell she was speaking from experience. When I found my voice, I didn’t hesitate to give April an affirmative reply. “Sounds like fun!” I exclaimed. She smiled at me and took my hand. We left our half-finished drinks on the kitchen table beside the stack of school brochures. I eagerly followed wherever my lovely English teacher was leading me. I fully realized this was a milestone moment in my young life.

Miss Pendelton’s bathroom was a rather large one. It had a walk-in shower that could easily accommodate two bathers at the same time. I suspected she had done this sort of thing there often before. I somehow got up the nerve to ask her how many boys my age she’d had sex with over the course of her life thus far.

“Well, I’ve been teaching for eight years now,” she replied without taking any sort of offense at my very personal question. “I average about three sexual encounters a year with male students I fancy. I’ll let you do the arithmetic, Grant.” I just smiled without shouting the obvious answer to the impromptu math problem.

Leading up to my visit to Miss Pendelton’s house that day, I’d just had two sexual experiences with girls. One was with a friend of my sister’s about five years ago, which could have gotten me into some serious trouble if we had been caught and the laws of thew land were strictly enforced. (Screwing Rhonda Savage’s beautiful, tight pussy was worth any jail sentence, though.) The other incident occurred just a few months ago, at the beginning of summer vacation. A shapely girl named Carole Chesterton was the other female. I met her at a campground. She took an immediate shine to me, invited me to her family’s trailer when she was alone, and gave me the first blowjob of my life. It concluded when I accidentally gave her the first facial of my life. It was a real doozy.

Miss Pendelton got undressed quickly. She had a better-than-average figure based upon my expectations. She seemed to be especially proud of her breasts. She cupped them with her hands and virtually shoved them into my face for my approval.

“Like my jugs, Grant?” she asked me coyly.

“Damn, they’re attractive!” I responded enthusiastically. I was only partially undressed, but I stopped to sample the treats that were being so brazenly offered to me. I squeezed April’s lovely boobs together and applied a couple of quick, lustful licks to her nipples. April didn’t want to delay our shower any further, so she yanked the rest of my clothing off, including my briefs which were doing a poor job concealing that I had an obvious erection. April then kneeled to give me a quick sample of her fellatio skills to make my phallus rock-hard. It put Carole Chesterton’s blowjob to shame. I was impressed that I didn’t come on April’s face as I had with Carole at the end of June.

We entered the shower holding hands, which was a nice, romantic touch. April immediately adjusted the settings so there was a warm, pulsating stream of water beating down on our two naked bodies. There were two sponges at two washcloths and a large bottle of liquid soap that smelled like coconuts. We actually washed each other, which was great fun. I loved taking a soapy washcloth to April’s hairy pussy and fingering her clit through it. April responded very positively with a loud, “Oh, God, yes!” I took that as a compliment. April repaid me by continuing her blowjob. She was skillfully switching her actions on my stiff shaft from licks to blows. I instinctively put my hands on the back of April’s head to thrust my dick as deeply into her mouth as it would go. As a final touch, she also put both my balls into her mouth at one point. Wow! How I kept my composure during that excellent sex act still amazes me.

“Let’s move to my bedroom where we have plenty of room to fuck, Grant!” Miss Pendelton sensibly suggested.

“That sounds like a fine idea to me, April,” I said. I was getting more and more used to addressing my teacher by her first name.

April shut off the water for the time being, saying we would return there to clean ourselves up after we’d had a “vigorous fuck” on her bed. We dried each other off with thick, fluffy, white towels, which was great fun, too. April continued to focus on my dick, which she seemed to be very fond of. This time I gave special attention to her lovely tits, which I wanted to suck on for hours on end. When we were reasonably dry, April led me to her bedroom. She promptly hopped on it and spread her legs. She fondled her pussy and said it was ready to take my “big, hard, thrusting cock.”

I knew what my main task was. I quickly mounted April and drove my penis into her crevice. I knew this was not April’s first time. Therefore, her glorious pussy was considerably looser than little Rhonda Savage's had been, but it was still warm and inviting. I liked being inside it! I liked it a lot! To me, having sexual intercourse with a desirable woman in her thirties felt like the most natural thing in the world. I thrusted inside her like a man possessed—or a boy possessed, to be more accurate—only stopping periodically to play with her eye-catching tits that were heaving rhythmically on her torso.

“You can come all over my tits if you want to, Grant,” April sweetly advised me. “They seem to be your favorite part of me.”

“Correct!” I said with glee. “I’d love to squirt a huge load of hot semen all over them.”

“Please do, Grant. Come on my sexy breasts whenever you’re ready!” she said.

Those seemed to be the magic words. I pulled out of her fabulous pussy, gave my dick three firm tugs, aimed my weapon, and unleashed a geyser of jism onto April upper torso. My aim was fairly good. Most of my thick ropes of semen splashed on or near her bosom. Her navel became a little lake of goo. When I was done shooting my large load—and what a tremendous feeling that had been!—I was still at least semihard. I straddled April and placed my shaft in the middle of my cum shot between her lovely tits. I was wallowing in my own sperm, but since April’s tits were involved, I didn’t care. A few wayward drips of jism fell out of my dick to add to the mix.

“That was absolutely the best experience of my life!” I proclaimed while my throbbing dick still surrounded by April’s breasts. I leaned forward and kissed her passionately on the lips. We had engaged in oral sex and screwed like rabbits, but this was our first kiss of the day! That seemed out of sequence to me! We embraced for quite a while to wind down. We said very little. As a turn-on, April put a few strands of my semen onto her tongue, but I could tell that cum-swallowing wasn’t really high on her list of sexual priorities.

As Miss Pendelton promised, we returned to the shower. It was third one I had taken that day, which may have been a personal record. This time we both really needed it. My testicles and shaft needed a god scrubbing. Strands of my ejaculation were sexily hanging from the tips of April’s tits. I washed those off her with a soapy sponge. When her boobs were completely clean, I gave them a good sucking. Yes, they certainly were by favorite body parts of hers! I also washed her hair—and she did mine, just for fun. I liked the various sensations of being pampered while showering with a beautiful female. Honestly, what normal male wouldn’t like that?

We once again used the fluffy towels to dry ourselves off. I was surprised and proud of myself to see that my penis was fully erect again. I so wanted to put it to use again. It was obviously ready for a second romp, but I knew I had to get home rather than stay for another great fuck with Miss Pendelton. Accordingly, we dressed and got into her car. At the last moment, I realized I had forgotten to pick up the three school brochures that had interested me. I went back inside April’s house to collect them from the kitchen table. That was where I had left them before my sexual adventure had begun. I hustled back to her car, waving the promotional literature in my hand, and told Miss Pendelton my address. She started driving towards my house.

I had no idea if this wild but wonderful, afternoon sexual get-together I’d just experienced was merely a one-off occurrence or if I was going to be a regular bedmate for April. I hoped for the latter, of course, because I wanted to actually ejaculate in her pussy the next time—and I greatly desired to do that. I got my answer when, out of the blue, Miss Pendelton asked me about a classmate of mine named Duane Samuels.

“You’ve seen Duane in the boys’ gym changeroom, haven’t you, Grant? Does he have a big dick, too? I hope so! I kind of fancy him. I think I’d like to fuck him next!””