Part One

My name is Kenneth (Ken) Dowdy. I was an 18-year-old, high school pupil in the spring of 1975. My English teacher was Mr. Coveleski. He was a big believer in group projects, or at least assignments where students were paired up to work on a single task. As a good student, I generally hated working with partners. I found the tasks were rarely split evenly, and even if they miraculously were, I was usually disappointed with the standard of work that my partners produced.

One day Mr. Coveleski announced he was giving the 30 students in my class an assignment where we’d be randomly paired in 15 partnerships. Each group of two would be given a historical novel to read. The passage of time has dimmed my memory somewhat, but I recall that the two-part task was to write a summary of the novel and determine if the story was historically accurate. Presumably, each student in the partnership was to tackle one of the two parts.

Once he explained what the assignment was, Mr. Coveleski announced the 15 pairs and the novels each twosome would be assigned. He said that he and his wife had conducted two lotteries the previous night to determine whom would be working together as well as each pair’s assigned novel. He insisted everything was completely random, fair, and as “honest as a game of checkers.” Thus, fate determined I was paired with Tracy Gallagher.

In terms of academic achievement, I could have fared a lot worse because I did have a few dim bulbs as classmates. Tracy was a fairly solid B student, so she could likely hold her own in this assignment. However, Tracy had a flaw she couldn’t control: She was an undeniably homely girl. If I had to rank the 15 females in my English class in order of good looks, Tracy Gallagher would have finished firmly in 15th place. In fact, there was quite a gap between Tracy and whichever girl would have occupied the 14th spot. I’m not trying to be cruel about this, just brutally honest.

Tracy actually had an appealing figure for an 18-year-old girl, but she had a large chin, a flat nose that had a slight crook in it, lips that were a little too big for her face, dull grey eyes, and a head of straight black hair. Sadly, no hairdo would improve her appearance. Thus, Tracy Gallagher was no one’s dream girl.

Myself, I did not have movie-star looks, but I had been described as handsome on a few occasions. I had no trouble whatsoever attracting female companionship. Every Valentine’s Day at school since the second grade, I routinely got a few anonymous presents, presumably from smitten girls. I had a girlfriend named Kathy MacNeil who went to a different school. Like me, Kathy was 11 and in the sixth grade when we met. She had approached me when, by chance, we were both present at a Christmas drop-in party hosted by my aunt and uncle. She was one of their neighbors. Kathy openly told me, “Ken, if you’re looking for a girlfriend, I’m available!” She had known me for approximately two minutes when she made that proposal. She was quite fetching, so I accepted the offer. We spent most of the Christmas party in a secluded part of the house’s basement getting to know each other quite well. Since that first night, Kathy and I had been seeing each other at least once every couple of weeks over the past six years. I adored her. I figured we’d be married someday.

Regarding Mr. Coveleski’s assignment, I lucked out in one aspect, though. Tracy and I were given The Red Badge of Courage as our novel. The Stephen Crane work was comparatively very short, about half the size of what other unlucky pairs were assigned. We had three weeks to read the book and do the assigned task: Each pair was required to present an oral report to the rest of the class in the same order that the lottery paired us. Tracy and I were pair #6.

Mr. Coveleski gave us the last ten minutes of the class to meet with our partners to plan how to tackle the assignment. Tracy and I both had common sense, so we determined that we each needed to start reading the novel and then decide which one of us would do which task. A week into the assignment, Tracy told me that she had finished reading the novel. I had, too. Tracy invited me to her house that coming Saturday for lunch to work on our project together. I accepted.

Part Two

I arrived on foot at 11 a.m. at the Gallagher household. We worked for about an hour until the feast began. I had expected to be served a light lunch, but Tracy’s mother had gone well beyond the call of duty to welcome me to her home. I got a five-course meal out of my visit that began with homemade vegetable soup, followed by various appetizers, cold meats, pasta, and a huge slab of chocolate fudge cake. I was constantly and sincerely complimenting Mrs. Gallagher on the terrific meal.

“You are more than welcome, Ken,” she told me. “Tracy doesn’t have many visitors, so I don’t get the chance to be a good hostess very often. I hope you will come here again even after your English assignment is finished.”

“If this is the type of meal I’d get, count me in! I don’t think I’ll need another meal for the rest of the day. It was great!” I said in response, which brought a smile to Mrs. Gallagher’s face.

She turned to her daughter and said, “Treat your guest very kindly, Tracy. He’s a nice young man—and a handsome one, too. I’ll put out a plate of cookies for the two of you, just in case you feel like snacking while you’re working on your project.”

It turned out we didn’t have to do a whole lot of planning for Mr. Coveleski’s assignment. We both understood the book quite well. I knew enough about the Civil War to confidently assert the Stephen Crane novel was an accurate portrayal of the time period. Tracy had already written a very passable summary and review. (I did amend it a little bit, with her permission.) I quickly wrote out 600 words in longhand to do my share; I’d type it later when I got home. We were basically done!

We were also alone because her parents had stepped out of the house to take her little sister, Cindy, to see a Disney movie. I had started to put my notebook and pens back into the knapsack in which I had brought them, when Tracy asked me, “Ken, do you have to leave right away? Please stay for a while. I want to talk to you.”

I had nothing on my agenda for the rest of the day, so I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sure, Tracy. What would you like to discuss?”

In a bit of a surprise move, Tracy took me by the hand and led me to a couch. (We had been sitting on folding chairs on opposite sides of a card table to do our schoolwork.) She continued to hold my hand as she started to talk.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Ken?” she asked me rather sweetly.

“Yes, I do, Tracy,” I replied. “Her name is Kathy MacNeil. She lives on the other side of the city, so she doesn’t attend our school. We’ve been a couple since the sixth grade. I’m rather fond of her.”

“I figured that would be the case,” Tracy said with a hint of melancholy in her voice. “I’m never going to have a boyfriend—for obvious reasons.”

“Never say never, Tracy, ” I told her. I figured that was the politest thing I could say. I didn’t have the nerve to say she was probably correct in her assessment of the situation.

“Do you have sex with Kathy?” Tracy asked me. I was a bit shocked by the boldness of her inquiry.

“Well, yes, we do...every once in a while,” I told her. I had kept track of those events. The actual total was six times in slightly more than six years, but I wasn’t going to divulge that statistic.

“I understand that sex is a very pleasurable activity, ” Tracy continued. “That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. I’ll probably never enjoy that experience in my lifetime. Oh, well...”

I had a hunch where this conversation was going, so I allowed it to head in that direction. “Don’t sell yourself short, Tracy, ” I told her. “Speaking as a horny male, there are plenty of other horny males between the ages of 12 to 92 who get up every morning seeking sex with any willing female partner they can find.”

That fact, which was patently obvious to any male who had been through puberty, came as a wonderful revelation to Tracy.

“Really?” she asked me excitedly. “Is that really true, Ken?”

“Definitely!” I replied. “There are some days when I get out of bed with a raging erection and hope I can get together with Kathy to do something about it. Sex is quite often the only thing on my mind.” It occurred to me I had never said anything like that out loud to anyone—not even to my male buddies who probably shared the same “morning wood” experiences that I did.

“Well, Ken...” Tracy said with an elongated pause after my name. “The house will be empty here for at least two more hours before my parents and sister get back from the movie. I’d love to have a sexual encounter with you. I won’t tell a soul. Kathy never needs to know about it. Are you interested, Ken?”

I did not answer her immediately. I had fantasized about screwing several girls in my English class, but Tracy Gallagher wasn’t one of them. (For at least four years I’d had a secret crush on Pauline Mahaffey, a cute, petite blonde who had perky tits and a very pretty face. She was the best of the bunch. I figured she’d be a great fuck. Had I not been involved with Kathy, I probably would have attempted to woo Pauline.) I looked back at Tracy—focusing on what was below her neck. She actually had a nice build, at least as good as Pauline’s and Kathy’s, if not a little bit better! I remembered what my friend Steven Bennet once bluntly told me about girls who weren’t very pretty: “You don’t fuck the face, Ken.”

I immediately realized the wisdom in Steven’s statement. I took it to heart and said to Tracy, “Having sex with you sounds great, my dear! Let’s get started!”

I think Tracy was surprised by my affirmative answer. She smiled warmly and then embraced me. “We don’t have to go far, Ken,” she told me. “This couch we’re sitting on opens up to a fold-out bed. Let’s screw right here and right now!” I quickly agreed to that. Within a minute, Tracy had converted the couch into its bed option.

I had been dressed very casually in a sweatshirt and jeans. I was down to my briefs and socks inside of 30 seconds. Tracy had eagerly yanked her blue top off her torso without delay, exposing a frilly pink bra. When I had screwed Kathy, I had always been very gentlemanly because I figured she might be my wife someday. But with Tracy as a bedmate, I figured I could be rather aggressive to the point of being on the rough side. I put my arms around Tracy, positioned her so I could grasp her fine breasts, and put my hands firmly on the cups of her brassiere. I gave her tits a sexy squeeze. I was about to unclasp her bra, but Tracy beat me to it. I liked her obvious enthusiasm!

Her boobs, now free from their confinement, jiggled for a moment and then came to a halt. I immediately caressed them with both hands, paying special attention to her rapidly hardening nipples. “Jeez, you have nice tits, Tracy. You should be proud of them,” I said.

Tracy just cooed with delight and removed the beige slacks she had been wearing. I reluctantly broke contact with Tracy’s treasures so I could get out of my underwear and peel off my socks. I was wielding a full, stiff, wonderfully hard erection. I honestly didn’t think that was possible with Tracy Gallagher as a bedmate. I drew Tracy’s attention to my prominent stiffie and said, “For you, my dear! I’m going to give you a mighty good fucking with it.”

“Wow!” she declared. “I hope you do, Ken. I really hope you do!”

Tracy then dropped her pink panties to the floor, exposing a very hairy vagina—at least it was compared to Kathy MacNeil’s key body part. She was going to remove her pink socks, too, but I stopped her.

“Leave your socks on, Tracy!” I requested. “For some reason they are a turn-on to me.” That was entirely true. I had never mentioned it to Kathy, but I always found girls’ feminine socks to be sexually appealing. I suppose it was just a weird fetish of mine, but I was going to indulge it!

We both met in the center of the bed. I took charge. I placed Tracy on her back and began sucking on her tits, stopping about every 20 seconds or so to tell her how much I loved licking her mounds. I slid up the bed to rub my dick across them, which Tracy found amusing.

“Another one of my sexual fetishes,” I explained. “Rubbing my dick on a girl’s tits is a major turn-on for me, too.”

“Hey, whatever works...” Tracy said with an endearing girlish giggle.

Seconds later, I placed my dick near Tracy’s lips. She got the idea of what I wanted. She took the head of my penis into her warm mouth and began to give me fellatio. Meanwhile my left hand was busily fingering Tracy’s hairy muff. I got a rise out of her when my index finger entered her opening. I slowly thrusted it in and out of her. Doing this while getting a blowjob was an enjoyable combination—probably for both of us.

I was never into cunnilingus, so I wasn’t about to do that. So, without further ado, I pulled my dick from Tracy’s mouth, thanked her sincerely for the wonderful blowjob, and shoved it into her pussy without much subtlety. Tracy’s pussy was pleasantly tight; after all she was a virgin when she woke up that morning. I tried my best to loosen it up with some very vigorous thrusts. Tracy’s vagina was becoming quite lubricated from sexual excitement so I knew I was pleasing her—which boosted my ego.

I was in no hurry to ejaculate. Luckily, I’d had enough sexual experience with Kim—not to mention seven years of regular masturbating—to know the nether region of my abdomen quite well. I had learned just how excited I could get without climaxing as long as I paused at the right time. That I did. I pulled out, which put a frown temporarily on Tracy’s face. I noticed it, understood its meaning, and chuckled. “Tracy, this is just a temporary pause. I want to fuck you from behind before I come.”

“Oh, thank heavens!” she said. “I was afraid you were done.”

“Hell no!” I interjected. “When I’m finished screwing you, you’ll know it for sure, Tracy!”

I repositioned Tracy so she was at the bottom of the bed with her cute bum elevated at an angle. I left the bed to stand behind her for a doggy-style screw. I did take the opportunity to caress her butt cheeks, which were quite appealing. I had never seen Tracy in a bikini, but from my observations of her unclothed body, I figured she would fill out a tiny swimsuit quite nicely.

I shoved my penis back into Tracy’s welcoming vagina without any warning at all. That pleasantly startled her. I drove it deep inside her. The feeling was wonderful. Steven Bennet had certainly been right: You don’t fuck the face. I treated Tracy to a horny monologue while I was ravishing her.

“You’re a great fuck, Tracy!” I told her. “I’d love to please you with my dick for hours if I could. You have a nice, tight pussy. My dick feels so good inside you. Wow! What a fabulous pussy you have! What great tits, too! You have a very sexy body. Oh, yes! My balls are tingling! You’re going to make me come very soon...”

I pulled out, flipped her on her back, straddled her, and came all over her face with a mighty cum shot—likely the best one I had ever experienced. Ropes of my thick white goo covered her eyes, nose and mouth. Strands of my semen hung from her chin and slowly dripped onto her torso. That was a sexy sight to behold! I counted four separate cum blasts. Just when I thought my balls were empty, I could feel one last round coming out of my throbbing penis. It was barely a dribble but I purposely made sure it fell on Tracy’s tits. I proceeded to massage the moisture into them with both hands. “Cum is supposed to make a girl’s tits grow bigger,” I said. “It’s probably just a silly old myth, but who cares if it is? I just wanted to handle your tits again, Tracy. By the way, now I’m done. Can you tell I’m finished?”

“Yeah, I see the evidence,” Tracy said with a smile as she touched the mess on her face and breasts. She even sexily wiped some jism from her chin, placed it on her tongue, and swallowed it! Wow! What a girl! Kathy had never done that after I ejaculated on her.

We cleaned ourselves up. Actually, we cleaned each other up, which was a fun pastime. I enjoyed every second when I could fondle Tracy’s beautiful breasts. I was becoming quite fond of them. We got back into our clothes and Tracy affectionately embraced me. She said she’d had the time of her life being fucked so thoroughly by me. I told Tracy she was a better bedmate than Kathy—which was the truth. I stayed for another 30 minutes just to cuddle on the couch with her. It occurred to me as I walked home that we hadn’t kissed—not even once.

Part Three

Our novel project was a huge success. After seeing all 15 presentations, I honestly thought ours was the best. After Tracy and I had finished ours, Mr. Coveleski applauded—something he rarely did—and gave us what he called “a well-deserved A.” He was big on two-way feedback, so he made a point of talking to each pair in private over the next week. When it was time for Tracy and me to see him, it was one afternoon just after school was dismissed. We both sat in chairs in front of his desk. Tracy surprised me by moving her chair as close to mine as possible. Then she embraced me as we were questioned by our teacher.

“Did you two get along well as partners?” he asked us, apparently oblivious to the hug I was getting.

Tracy softly giggled at the question. I boldly cupped her lovely breasts, gave them a series of sexy squeezes, and replied for the two of us, “Yes, sir. Quite well! Quite well, indeed!”