Part One

Some of us are blessed to have good teachers throughout our academic careers. I, Vic Devonshire, hit the jackpot: I had quite a few gems, especially as I got older and could appreciate them. Of course, I had a handful of duds as well, but during my formative years, the good educators far outnumbered the bad ones—at least in my experience.

One of my favorite high school teachers was Mr. Miller who was in the English department of Central Heights Secondary School in my hometown in central Canada. When I was in my senior year in 1983, I figured Mr. Miller was likely about 55 years old. I had never had him as an English teacher until my final semester of high school, but I did know of him solely by his reputation.

Mr. Miller had been on the staff for more than 20 years. He was known to be a bit of a character, to say the least. He was outspoken and tended to defy authority in subtle ways. He seemed to be able to deftly skirt rules. With his gift of words, Mr. Miller could get away with making sly comments that less eloquent staff members could not. In other words, he was our school’s reigning “cool teacher” who was generally popular with his students.

His senior English course was heavily slanted towards creative writing—which was definitely something I enjoyed doing. I was thrilled when Mr. Miller spent plenty of time critiquing my written works—even though it always produced top marks. About two weeks into class, he openly told me, “Vic, for three years I’ve heard from my colleagues in the English department that you are an exceptionally good writer. Therefore, I was pleased to see your name on my class list for this semester. You’ve shown this scouting report about you to be very accurate. You’ve likely noticed that I am critiquing your writing more strongly than I do with an average student. I’m doing this because I genuinely care. I think you have excellent potential to be an exceptional writer. Accordingly, it should be finely honed.”

I fully understood that his detailed critiques of my work were actually compliments without him having to tell me, but I was still flattered to hear him openly say it to me in so many words. I thanked him and said I hoped to use my writing skill somehow in my adult life, perhaps on the staff of a daily newspaper or a major magazine. He insisted that my goal was certainly within my reach—but my writing still needed plenty of polish. “Polish away!” I told him cheerfully. I looked forward to his thoughtful and insightful comments on everything I wrote.

Mr. Miller was well known for giving his senior students very creative writing assignments. The most famous one required every pupil to write a 1,000-word, first-person account of some sort of personal fantasy—and it could literally be any type of imaginary tale. Of course, when you are dealing with 18-year-olds, their fantasies tend to drift towards human sexuality—especially the male students, as men are allegedly approaching their sexual peak at that age.

Once, when we were having a friendly, impromptu and lengthy chat after class, Mr. Miller told me that 90 percent of the males given that assignment use the opportunity to pen sexual fantasies, but only about 25 percent of his female students opt to do that. He never got in trouble for giving that assignment to his classes because he didn’t directly tell anyone to write about sex. “Hey, all my students are welcome to write about skydiving, or winning the lottery, or any other type of fantasy that enters their minds,” he told me that afternoon. “I honestly don’t care what topics are chosen by them. Year after year, a huge percentage of the students in my senior class opt to write in great detail about sexual fantasies, though. That’s to be expected, I suppose. Therefore, in a class of 30 students, I’ll typically get 17 sex fantasies submitted to me—13 by males and four by females.” Then he paused for a moment and slyly grinned at me before continuing. “Of course, Vic, since I’m a middle-aged bachelor, I love reading about teenagers’ lusty dreams. The handful of well-written ones make me feel very youthful and horny. I really do enjoy them more than you can imagine.”

I laughed heartily at that honest remark. “Well, I’ll do my best not to let you down, sir,” I said as I left the classroom. From the moment Mr. Miller had given our class that assignment, I already knew what my topic would be and whom I would fantasize about.

Part Two

Of course, I fell in line with the majority of males in my English class when Mr. Miller finally gave us his famous fantasy-writing assignment. We had a week to complete it. I had no trouble at all penning a steamy fantasy I had long held regarding a good friend’s sister whom I had secretly desired for years. She was quite fetching to me, but I was deathly afraid to approach her in real life for fear of being rejected—and perhaps losing my buddy over it. For the assignment, I changed her name, of course, but I wrote lustily about what I would like to do to her and with her if she were ever ready, eager and willing to become sexually intimate with me. Here’s exactly what I submitted to Mr. Miller:

Despite being clad in a navy-blue t-shirt and pristine white tennis shorts, my sweetheart Barbara looked beautiful. Of course, she always looked gorgeous to me regardless of what clothing she wore. She had lovely, flowing chestnut-brown hair that matched her eye color. It was wavy and dipped beneath her shoulders. It pleasantly smelled of fruit-scented shampoo. Barbara simply exuded an aura of desirable femininity that I now found to be utterly irresistible.

I was relaxing on a chair in her kitchen with a cold drink on the nearby table which I quickly forgot about because Barbara had entered in the room. I was overcome by a sense of longing for this absolute darling. Barbara definitely had a loving expression in her face—and it was aimed me. Upon realizing that, without hesitation, I beckoned her with a gentle wave of my right hand to come toward me at once. The two of us were alone in her house. I did not say a word to her. I did not need to say anything. Barbara instinctively knew what I wanted and she was finally ready on this day to provide it for me. I, of course, was ready to engulf her in my arms and love her passionately at a moment’s notice.

I was older and a foot taller than my delightful lover, so I had no difficulty lifting Barbara onto my lap. I always enjoyed making love to petite girls. Starting with them seated on my lap had always proven to be a good idea in the past. It was especially a great idea with Barbara who literally leapt aboard me and wrapped her arms tightly and lovingly around my torso. Her absolute compliance was utterly wonderful—and a huge sexual turn-on for me. I could already feel the stirring in my nether regions. My full sexual arousal was immediate.

“I want to make passionate love to you, Barbara McAllister,” I told her complacently, “and I’m definitely going to do it!” I wasted no time in beginning the sexual ritual.

I began by kissing every part of Barbara’s sexy body that was not covered in clothing: her face, neck, hands and arms. I even found a spot between her beltline and the bottom of her shirt to kiss, too. I cautiously placed my hands on top of her small breasts and rubbed them in the same manner as if I were polishing silverware. When Barbara showed no signs of objecting, I removed her shirt. She assisted me by raising her arms to make the task easier for me.

Her perky breasts were absolutely adorable—they surpassed everything I had hoped and fantasized about them. I immediately buried my face between them and began licking her nipples, first the left one, then the right. Barbara began kissing my face and neck, so I paused my fun to engage in in a long and very passionate kiss. Barbara responded by unbuttoning my shirt and removing it from my torso. I had a hairy chest which came as a pleasant surprise to her. She ran her fingers through it and giggled. “Oh, that is so very manly!” Barbara noted.

“And your sexy tits are the most feminine thing in the whole world!” I replied. “I want to keep licking them.” Barbara giggled again and I resumed having fun with her chest.

“I want to play with your dick now, Vic,” she told me in a way the was both sexy and sweet. I was no fool; I complied, of course. Barbara got off my lap momentarily to allow me to shed my trousers and briefs. My erect dick, when freed from its confines, promptly sprang upward. I have at least an average-sized penis, and I was proud of it, so I hoped her first glimpse my manhood was impressive to her. Being rigid, it was obviously ready for sex. Barabra uttered a gentle, “Ooh!” She got back onto my lap and began to stroke my penis with alternate hands. That was a very sexy way to stimulate a dick that didn’t need much stimulation. I took that as a sign that she liked what I had to offer her.

For a few minutes, Barbara amused herself with my mighty, erect phallus while I sucked on the treasures on her torso. I eventually suggested that she need to get fully undressed, too. She looked almost apologetic for the omission. She again stepped down from my lap and removed her shorts and her girlish pair of pink panties beneath them. As she discarded them, I noticed with amusement that they were decorated with a strawberry motif. Her vagina didn’t have the slightest trace of hair on it. Upon seeing her bald pussy, I felt my penis somehow get stiffer. Considering how strong my erection already was, I would have thought that was impossible.

I took my right hand and gently caressed her virgin pussy. “Beautiful...just beautiful, ” I told her before I gently kissed the nape of her neck as I continued to finger her. I was referring to both her...and her most important body part.

I was now fully ready for sexual intercourse. I lifted Barbara off my lap so I could place my penis at the opening of her vagina. “I want to please you with my hard dick,” I told her. I’m sure it was an unnecessary statement. Then, with great care, I gently set her upon it so that my throbbing penis penetrated her. If Barbara had been a virgin, she wasn’t one anymore.

The feeling I had was overwhelming. Barbara was extraordinarily tight, but she was a real trouper about accepting every inch of my erection. It was utterly marvelous. Barbara whimpered just slightly, but I could tell she was pleased that we were conjoined in sexual satisfaction. I lifted her up and down on my shaft perhaps five times to give her the feeling of being fucked. No male could have lasted any longer than I did before ejaculating. I felt the orgasm building within my balls. I didn’t have much time to decide where my load would go, but at the last possible moment I opted to leave my stiff penis exactly where it was. Accordingly, I launched a geyser of sperm inside beautiful Barbara’s tight womb. Firing rope after rope of warm semen into my lover was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most pleasurable moment I’d had in my young life so far. I knew I had a long time left to live, but I seriously wondered what could possibly top it!

It took me three revisions and plenty of careful typing to get my fantasy essay at the high level I wanted for Mr. Miller. Still, I was among the first students to submit it. When I handed it to him at the end of one class, I said to him with a smile, “I hope this essay produces the desired effect on you, sir.”

“If anyone in this class can do it, Vic, it would be you,” he told me.

I took that as a great compliment.

Part Three

The essay deadline came and went. Everyone in my class submitted something in time. A few days went by, but finally Mr. Miller got around to returning all our fantasy essays, graded of course, and with accompanying comments penned in red ink on the back page of each one.

Typical of our irrepressible teacher, before he returned our papers, he stated with a straight face, “I was shocked—shocked!—that more than half of you chose to write about some type of sexual fantasy. That hasn’t happened in one of my senior classes since...last semester!” That quip drew a huge laugh from all 30 of us. Mr. Miller continued, “I won’t mention any student’s essay specifically, but one outstanding submission was so spicy that I had to take a cold shower after I’d finished reading it!” That prompted laughter, too. I wasn’t sure if Mr. Miller was referring to my essay or not. He didn’t make eye contact with me.

He continued, “Many of your essays were quite good. Of course, I can’t read any essay aloud if it has a sexual theme. Doing that would get me into a world of trouble here. However, I can’t possibly stop you from sharing your papers with each other, but only if this sort of erotic writing appeals to you. Not that I want to stop you, of course...” Mr. Miller did read one person’s essay aloud to the class, however. It written by a female classmate named Jenny Noble, who was a tennis enthusiast. There was nothing sexual about it at all. Her essay was a fantasy about winning Wimbledon. It was quite good, in my humble opinion.

When I was handed my essay, I quickly turned it to the back page. My grade was a very satisfying A-plus. There was just one succinct comment from Mr. Miller attached to it: “Mission accomplished, Vic!” There was also a small, accompanying drawing of a stick man taking a shower. I quietly chuckled to myself.