Part One

My name is Mark Covington. I was born in 1964, which made my birthday in April 1994 my thirtieth. I had been married at age 26 to a wonderful girl named Naomi who was the same age as I was. At least she was born in 1964, too. She had a September birthday.

We met in a diner in 1989. I think it was fate combined with a bit of luck. We were customers sitting by ourselves at two different tables. I noticed that Naomi was eying me from a distance. That didn’t bother me at all because she was quite an attractive female, small in stature but very well built. I always was attracted to the short, sexy types of girls. Therefore, Naomi seemed custom-made for me. Eventually, Naomi rose from her chair and slowly approached me. When she stood beside me, she combined a statement with a question: “Your name is Mark, isn’t it?”

I confirmed that it was. Upon hearing the affirmation, Naomi Fraser identified herself to me. Furthermore, she insisted she had been a classmate of mine in middle school. I had a pretty good memory for faces and names, but I didn’t remember her. Moreover, I couldn’t recall ever attending school with anyone named Naomi. I figured I would have remembered that. I also figured I wouldn’t forget anyone as attractive as she was.

I merely assumed my memory was failing me in this instance. Actually, it wasn’t. As Naomi started to reminisce about old teachers and classmates—all of whom had unfamiliar names—I finally interrupted her. I politely said, “Naomi, I believe you think I’m someone else, because everything that you’re saying to me doesn’t ring a bell at all.”

“Really?” she said with a startled expression in her voice. “You’re not Mark Willoughby?”

I replied, “No, I’m not. I’ve never heard of him. Sorry. My name is Mark Covington.”

“Wow!” she responded. “You are a dead ringer for a boy I recall from middle school who has the same first name as you do. You could easily be his twin brother.” Naomi then said the middle school she had attended was in a city 75 miles away. I told her I attended public school right here in the same city where I was still living more than a decade later.

Naomi apologized for the understandable mix-up and was about to head back to her table, but I didn’t want that to happen.

“Wait!” I suggested. “Just because we went to two different middle schools, it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a meal together and get to know each other, if that’s alright with you.”

Naomi chuckled and happily accepted my invitation. I informed the waitress that Naomi was joining me at my table. We began conversing. There was an instant attraction between us. I suspected part of the attraction for her was that I looked so much like Mark Willoughby with whom she had a teenage crush. Whatever the case, I was okay with that, because I was quickly becoming smitten with her. Lunch at the diner expanded to spending the full day together. Within a week I knew in my heart that Naomi Fraser was the girl I was fated to marry—and she knew it, too. Three months later we were married in a civil ceremony. I joked that we ought to invite Mark Willoughby—wherever he was—to the wedding reception because he was indirectly responsible for our becoming a couple.

Part Two

Four years of happy marriage later, Naomi received a letter on stationery from her old middle school. Her old stomping grounds was celebrating its fiftieth anniversary. To celebrate the milestone, it was having a combination open house and alumni reunion on the second Saturday of June, followed by a gala dinner at a posh hotel. Naomi was eager to attend. She wanted to see a few classmates and teachers whom she had lost contact with in the years after 1978. I could sense her high level of enthusiasm, so I said I’d happily attend the event with her, knowing full well I’d know absolutely no one there. I had never set foot in the city where Naomi had grown up.

While we were making the 90-minute drive to my wife's old school on the day of the open house, I kidded her. I said, "Be truthful, Naomi: You're primarily attending this reunion because you desperately hope the famous Mark Willoughby will show up, too. Am I right?"

Naomi smiled and replied, "Well, he's one of about a hundred people I'm hoping to reconnect with today. I'd put Mark in the top dozen, though. I honestly have no idea who will be there. I just hope the open house is well attended. There’s been a lot of work put into it by many volunteers."

I was starting to be slightly envious of this mystery man whom I'd never met. "Were you close friends with Mark?" I asked, even though I was somewhat afraid of the answer I might get.

"Hardly," my wife responded. "I just admired him from afar. I doubt that Mark and I ever had a conversation that lasted longer than half a minute. He was so handsome that I thought he was out of my league. He intimidated me back then. Mark really was a gorgeous teenage boy."

It took me a few seconds to realize I had been given a huge, indirect compliment. If Naomi had mistaken me for Mark Willoughby on the day we met, and she thought he was gorgeous, it stood to reason that I had the same level of good looks! I pointed out my logical deduction to Naomi, who said, "Of course, you are a handsome man!" That was a tremendous boost for my male ego.

It also occurred to me that Naomi was extremely beautiful herself. Frequently I had noticed other men eyeballing her in public places. That never bothered me. Hey, married or not, I always looked at other attractive females. It was a natural male instinct. If Naomi felt intimidated by Mark Willoughby, he must have really been attractive! I asked her, "Why would anyone who looks like you be intimidated by any male classmate? You know, I would have been intimidated by your good looks if I had attended your middle school. In case you didn't realize it, my love, you're hot stuff!"

That remark got her laughing. "Maybe we should forget about this long drive. Instead, we could just stop at a motel and screw all day!" she suggested.

Now I was laughing. I said, "As appealing as that sounds, sweetheart, I don't want you to miss your reunion. I know you've been looking forward to it."

“You are a dear, ” she told me. “I’m glad I married you.”

Then I added something I'd never told Naomi. "I don't think I've mentioned this before, but you definitely remind me of a classmate of mine—Jenny Gamble. She was my first girlfriend. That was in the sixth grade. I have no idea what Jenny looks like now, but she was exactly my type: short and sexy, just like you are." My wife always claimed to be 5'3" tall, but I think she was exaggerating. I am 6'1", so I towered over her.

"You're telling me that Jenny was a sexy sixth-grader?" she skeptically asked me.

"You better believe it!" I responded. "Jenny was an early bloomer--and I was a lucky beneficiary of that. She was very affectionate toward me. I really enjoyed fondling her goodies. Hey, I'm getting a stiffie just recalling our romantic escapades. Jeez, I guess that was 18 years ago."

Naomi just shook her head at my horny memory of 12-year-old Jenny. Then she noted, "I suppose I would have allowed Mark Willoughby to have his way with me in the sixth grade, the seventh grade, the eighth grade..."

I told my wife I got the general idea.

She added, "Mark Willoughby, I believe, came from a very religious and conservative family. I don't think he was the type of middle school student who would have been sexually active. That would have been a big no-no for him. That was his loss. He could have bedded every girl in school, if he so desired. The last time I saw him would have been the last day of classes in the eighth grade. His family moved to another city that summer. Yeah, I hope he will be there."

I was resigned to the fact that Naomi had maintained her schoolgirl crush on Mark Willoughby. I paused and stated, "Well, if he is here today, try to control yourself, please." Naomi giggled at my comment, but I was quite serious.

It also occurred to me that if Naomi mistook me for Mark Willoughby when we met four years ago, a few other attendees at this reunion might just make the same error. If anyone did, I’d have some fun with him or her.

Part Three

The most amusing part of our journey to Naomi’s former hometown was that we got slightly lost within its city limits. We had to ask a woman walking her beagle how close we were to the school. It was just three blocks south. Naomi explained her ignorance of local geography by stating that we were heading to the school from a different direction than she walked five days a week 16 years before. “Okay, you get a pass on this,” I said with a kiss. It turned out we should have just parked the car right there and walked the three blocks. The turnout at the reunion was enormous! Cars were parked everywhere within a two-block radius of the school.

Naomi remembered the layout of the school quite well, although she did point out that it had a new addition that had to have been built since 1978. Naomi signed the official alumni guestbook using both her married and maiden surnames. Within two minutes she excitedly recognized a half dozen former classmates. She introduced me to them. I knew I’d be the proverbial fifth wheel in any conversation, so I said hello and politely excused myself. I headed off to look at some exhibits and photos of the school’s history while my wife reconnected with her old friends.

I was looking through yearbooks from the era when Naomi attended the school when I felt a gentle tap on my right shoulder. I turned around and saw a stunningly attractive strawberry blonde sexily smiling at me. As I pointed out earlier in the story, my wife was quite a looker, but Naomi paled before this sexy creature. She was 5’6” or so, and basically flawless. If she wasn’t a professional model, she should have been one.

“You’re Mark, right?” she asked me with a bit of hesitation.

I accurately replied, “Yes, I am!” knowing full well I was already being mistaken for the great Mark Willoughby.

“You don’t likely remember me, but we’re the same age. My name is Denise Manheim—and I’d recognize you anywhere. I used to have the biggest crush on you because you were so handsome back in the day.”

I decided to have some fun with this beauty. “Are you saying I’ve lost my looks? I’m so disappointed.”

“Hell, no!” she replied. “Men get better looking as they approach their thirties. Women tend to lose their looks quicker.”

“Well, Denise, if you’ve lost your looks, you must have been beyond awesome when you were a student here!” I complimented her. Then I added a pickup line I hadn’t used in ten years: “Which modeling agency do you presently work for?”

Denise thanked me for my praiseful words, but she said she was employed as a legal secretary, not as a model. She also added that she was in the middle of an acrimonious divorce that was close to being finalized—and she had come to the open house solely in the hope of reconnecting with old boyfriends from yesteryear.

“I hope you get lucky,” I said to her.

Denise responded, “If you want to get lucky right now, Mark, you can follow me somewhere where we won’t be disturbed for 20 minutes or so.”

In the four years I had been married to Naomi, I had been totally faithful. However, this was an opportunity of a lifetime—at least that was how I justified it to myself—so I quickly said, “Deal!” and followed Denise as she led me to who-knows-where.

She whispered to me, “I’m leading you to the place I used to go with my middle school boyfriends once school was dismissed.” We went down a corridor to a room that had a sign saying “First Aid.”

“You remember the nurse’s room, don’t you, Mark?”

I said yes. It was the first lie I told Denise since our conversation began.

“I never once saw this room staffed by a nurse,” Denise recalled. “It was where students, and sometimes staff, would go if they were ill or needed medical attention. Maybe a nurse was assigned here back in the 1940s and 1950s, but I never saw one.”

The door was unlocked and the room was unoccupied. Denise and I made certain no one was looking when we opened the door to go inside. She flicked on the light and locked the door behind us. The room was more spacious than I figured it would be. Its most prominent feature was something that reminded me of a dentist’s chair.

“That big chair was where I had sex at least half a dozen times,” Denise proudly boasted.

“Let’s make it lucky seven!” I announced.

Without further ado, we both disrobed. Denise was even better looking naked than she was clothed, which, I suppose, is typical of all females. Naomi and I had had a passionate romp the night before in which I strongly came twice. Be that as it may, my dick became instantly as hard as a diamond when I caught a glimpse of Denise lounging on the chair and fingering her pussy.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for 16 years, Mark!” she told me in a breathy voice.

I was tempted to say, “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first met you—which was about eight minutes ago.” However, I managed to hold my tongue. Nevertheless, I was going to ravish Denise and enjoy it thoroughly!

I got on the chair, too, and positioned myself where I could best lick her fabulous pussy. That was something I generally liked to do with and for Naomi. I was overjoyed to do it with and for Denise. I had my face buried there for five minutes until it became wet from Denise’s orgasm. “I aim to please!” I told her between sensuous licks.

“You did please me, Mark! Let me return the favor!” she stated.

We quickly changed positions. I relaxed on the chair while Denise gave me a fabulous blowjob. I really enjoyed it because oral stimulation was a rarity in my sex life; Naomi wasn’t especially enthusiastic about performing that particular sex act. I could tell Denise had pleasured males this way more than a few times in her life. It was a minor miracle that I didn’t ejaculate in her mouth.

With my penis well primed for action, I continued to relax on the chair while Denise climbed aboard my stiff phallus and began to bounce up and down. I began our fuck by placing my hands on her waist to assist her vertical movements, but when I saw Denise’s sexy, jiggly tits merrily bouncing around too, I absolutely had to handle them! They were great! Firm and erect, she had the best nipples I had ever fondled. I stopped her bouncing on my dick, pleasurable as it was, for just a minute or two so I could suck on her mammary glands. It was wonderful. I was having the time of my life—and all because I had been mistaken for someone else!

After about eight minutes of intensive screwing, I knew I was going to come—and come hard. Without removing my penis from its happy place in Denise’s vagina, I rolled my lover onto her back to conclude our coitus with a passionate missionary-style fuck. About a dozen solid thrusts put me over the edge. I came. Then I fired a second blast. Then I came again. I eventually counted four, perhaps five, shots of my sticky semen leaving my manhood and finding its rightful home in Denise’s pussy. I felt exhausted an exhilarated at the same time. Denise and I stayed sexually conjoined for another five or six minutes. I probably would have fallen asleep on her if it wasn’t for her occasional comments about how good our fuck was.

We eventually got dressed, waited for an opportune time to re-enter the hallway, and went our separate ways. The last thing Denise said to me was, “All my old school friends will be so jealous that I got to fuck the famous Mark Willoughby. They’ll be green with envy!”

I was about to tell Denise that she had mistakenly fucked Mark Covington instead, but then I had a change of heart. I figured, “While spoil her fantasy? If she thinks she screwed Mark Willoughby, there’s no real harm in that.”

I found Naomi. I felt only a little bit guilty about what I had done with Denise, which bothered me on another level. She asked me a badly worded question: “I know you are a stranger here, but have you been enjoying the attractions?”

“Most definitely!” I responded with complete candor.

Part Four

My biggest fear for the remainder of the open house was that Naomi and Denise would run into each other and somehow be old friends. That never happened—thank heavens! Naomi especially had a great time visiting her old teachers. I stayed out of her way mostly. Over the course of the afternoon, eight or nine other people mistook me for Mark Willoughby. If they were males, I corrected their wrong assumption immediately. However, I let the females think I was the sexy teenage boy from yesteryear. Without exception, I got kisses from all of them.

It looked like the real Mark Willoughby was going to be a no-show, but late in the afternoon he appeared. I could barely suppress my laughter when Naomi pointed him out. He was my age, but he was almost completely bald. He was also about 40 pounds overweight. He had a doting wife, who was also very much heavyset. She clung to him incessantly.

“So, Naomi, that’s the guy you wanted to screw for three years?” I asked her with a huge grin plastered on my face.

“Yeah. Sad, isn’t it?” was all she said.

Since we had not prepaid for it, Naomi decided we ought to pass on the gala reunion dinner at the hotel. I believe we were on our way home about two minutes later.