Middle School Bulletin Board

Desperate for sex, 14-year-old Elliott places a risqué ad on his school's bulletin board. It is removed, but not before it piques one girl's interest!

Part One

My name is Elliott Sanderson. The first public school I attended was Middleview Elementary, which had classes from kindergarten to the sixth grade. In the autumn of 1977, I advanced to Oak Street Middle School. I was 12 years old and had been overwhelmed by puberty during the summer.

When I began the sixth grade, I wasn’t especially interested in girls. By Christmastime, my attitude started to change. Undoubtedly one of the major factors was that the girls in my class began to physically change, too. That year our classroom’s desks were arranged in groups of six rather than rows. Allegedly, it was to make group work easier and foster a sense of cooperation between students. As a top student, I originally found no benefits to it. My groupmates did, however, because they could copy the solutions to math problems and other assignments by looking at my paper with very little hindrance.

However, just before Christmas I noticed that the girl who sat directly opposite me, Pamela McDougall, was developing into a woman quite nicely and rapidly—and I approved of the change in her physique. She was an average student at best and had been a classmate of mine since kindergarten. I had taken zero interest in Pamela until her breasts began to sprout. From that point onward, I gawked at Pamela constantly and didn’t care that she was copying my homework verbatim. (In fact, it got to the point where I just handed it to her to save time.)

One day when I passed her my freshly completed grammar exercise to copy, Pamela commented, “Elliott, why are you so helpful to me all of a sudden? You never were before. Is it because I have boobs now?”

I was an irrepressible kid by nature and always had been. I figured I ought to be completely honest with her, so I replied, “Yes, Pamela, it’s the only reason. I desperately want to play with your tits and suck on them.”

The other four members of our group gasped and laughed. Our teacher, Mr. Kirby, heard at least a portion of what I said, became angry with me, and sent me to the principal’s office to be suitably punished.

When I got there, I went on the offensive. I was entirely truthful to Mr. Willoughby. I told him that I had helpfully been passing my assignments to Pamela so she could copy them. I rehashed what Pamela had said to me word for word and said I had given her a blunt but totally honest answer to her question. I summarized my defense by noting, “Pamela opened the door with that sexually charged inquiry. It was her doing, not mine. How can I be faulted for telling the truth?” Mr. Willoughby was forced to admit that I had a point. I was released without punishment, but I was advised to be “more tactful in the future.”

When I got back to class quicker than expected, I told Mr. Kirby in a voice loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear that “I had been found not guilty of any wrongdoing. Mr. Willoughby agreed that I had simply answered an awkward question truthfully.” Then I added, “As Shakespeare wrote, this is much ado about nothing.” I enjoyed being pedantic. Mr. Kirby glared at me. I just smiled.

When I got back to my desk, I noticed something had changed. During the short time I had been absent, Mr. Kirby had rearranged the classroom's seating plans. Pamela’s desk was now in another group 20 feet away. She had switched spots with a boy named James Snow. “Good decision, sir!” I comically said to Mr. Kirby. “James won’t be a distraction to me. He’s completely flat-chested. Moreover, Pamela will have to do her own assignments without my help now.”

To the best of my knowledge, Pamela McDougall never spoke to me again—or vice versa—for the rest of our school careers.

Part Two

Nine months later I was enrolled in middle school. My studies always came easily to me, which left me with a lot of time to daydream. I had become obsessed with the opposite sex since I turned 12 in February, so my musings often focused on the attractive, pubescent girls at my school. (The late bloomers held no interest to me.) The eighth-grade girls all seemed to be a shapely lot, so I lingered in the hallways before and after school so I could subtly eye them. The girls my age who caught my attention were a smaller subgroup, but they were still plentiful and randomly scattered throughout the seventh-grade homeroom classes about evenly. Danielle Miller was the most obvious beauty. She had a figure that no other 12-year-old could rival—but she was about as vapid as they came. One of my longtime male school chums once commented at lunchtime, “I wouldn’t mind marrying Danielle. She’s gorgeous!” I replied, “I’d like to fuck her for hours, but I wouldn’t consider marrying Danielle. That would be a disaster. She’s as dumb as a rock. She thinks a mixed number is a song with a male and a female singer.”

I began to borrow as many books about human sexuality from my school library as it had. (I think there were three.) The experts who wrote these books declared something I had not considered before: They maintained that females had the same level of sex drive as males. I seriously doubted that assertion because I did not see much first-hand evidence of it. Maybe it was because girls didn’t show much interest in me personally. In fact, there weren’t any who even said hello to me on a regular basis. I wasn’t really interested in having a girlfriend. I generally thought that all the girls my age were a silly, flighty bunch. Their only allurement to me was their bodies. I went dateless and sexless until I turned 14 in February 1979, but I was still as horny as I was when I was transfixed by Pamela McDougall’s treasure chest in the sixth grade. I desperately wanted to get laid! Shortly after my 14th birthday, I decided to do something about it.

I took a decidedly direct approach—which I knew would cause a stir. Our school had a public bulletin board near the principal’s office that students could freely use to post personal notices of all types. They generally were along the lines of “Looking for someone to play backgammon with at lunchtime. See Paul in Mr. Dennahy’s class” or “Need tutoring help with algebra. Will pay for it. See Sarah in Mrs. Scofield’s homeroom.” The one I penned was a little more risqué, but I figured what the heck! I wrote, “Healthy 14-year-old male desires sexual relationship with any girl who wants one. Not romance—just copulation. Ask for Elliott in Mrs. Allison’s homeroom.” It got the desired effect, as I directly received several comments from classmates who either admired my moxie or thought my post was horribly crude. The latter were almost entirely from females.

At the end of the day, I was asked to report to the principal’s office before I went home. I knew what the topic of discussion was going to be. This was confirmed when I encountered Mr. Paisley who was not amused. He was waving my hand-written notice angrily in my face. It looked like he was on the verge of a temper tantrum. “Elliott Sanderson, you are one of the brightest students at this school. Do you honestly think this is appropriate material for the students’ bulletin board?”

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but I had learned over the years that one of the best ways to disarm any angry person in an argument is to give him an unexpected answer. “Yes, I certainly do,” I said with a smile. “I’m just seeking a likeminded person, just like that fellow seeking another backgammon player is.”

My affirmative response had caught him off guard and totally startled him. He went out to the bulletin board to look at the backgammon ad I had referenced. Mr. Paisley replied, almost in a stammer, “It’s not the same; it’s totally different.”

I persisted. “Explain to me how it is different. We’re both seeking someone who has a similar interest. Two 14-year-olds having sex is not against the law. Why shouldn’t I use the school’s wonderful bulletin board to seek a bedmate? There might be 20 girls who are interested in hopping into the sack with me for fun—just like there might be 20 backgammon players interested in meeting that other fellow for fun. Hey, I bet having sex is far more fun than playing a silly game of backgammon.”

I got the impression that Mr. Paisley had seldom if ever been so deftly challenged by a lowly student to defend his actions. He responded with, “Do you want me to telephone your parents about this?”

I picked up the receiver from his desk and offered it to him. “Oh, yes! Please do!” I requested. “Ask for my father. He’d really appreciate such a call. Just the other day he said to me, ‘Elliott, how come you haven’t gotten laid yet? When I was 14, I had already bagged half a dozen girls at my school.’ He’d truly like to know that I’m being proactive about this shortcoming in my life. Shall I dial the number for you?”

Mr. Paisley just looked at me with his mouth agape. He seemingly wasn’t interested in debating me any further. He just ordered me out of his office and made a point of tearing up my notice. “That was unnecessary,” I told him as I departed. “You didn’t need to destroy my property. Maybe I’ll take this up with the ACLU.”

Mr. Paisley never tele phoned my father. It’s a good thing he didn’t. I was bluffing. My father was a very conservative man who strongly disapproved of premarital, sexual shenanigans.

Part Three

I thought that was the end of that. However, the next morning a petite girl whom I didn’t know approached me when I arrived at school. She was waiting for me at my locker. She said, “Hello, Elliott.” I replied, “Hello to you, too. I’m afraid I don’t recognize you. Should I know your name?”

“Probably not,” she said. “My name is Candace Clark. I’ve only been attending this school for three weeks. I’m in Mr. Jefferson’s home room, so that’s why we haven’t met.” Candace was right about that. The way my middle school operated was that each class spent half a day with one teacher doing math and language arts exercises, but travelled to other teacher’s rooms for science, history, music, and so forth for the other half of the day. There wasn’t much intermingling with students from other classes during the school day—except at lunchtime. Thus, there was a good reason why I had never seen nor heard of Candace Clark before that moment.

“I didn’t see it, but I heard about that notice you posted on the bulletin board yesterday,” she stated. For a brief moment, I thought she might be one of the angry feminist types who was going to chastise me for being a sexist pig. I was way off with that assumption!

Then it occurred to me that Candace had not dropped by my locker just to say hello. "By chance, are you here to answer my bulletin board notice?" I asked hopefully.

Candace moved as close as she could to me so she could whisper, "Yes, Elliott. That's why I'm here. I wanted to get a good look at you before I agreed to your proposition. You are better-than-average looking and you certainly seem like a nice guy to me. Some of the girls at this school think you are a bit arrogant, though."

"I admit those girls are probably right," I conceded. "I do come off that way when I have to deal with people I'd rather avoid. But you're not one of those people. Just from talking to you for about a minute, Candace, I can tell you don't fit into that category. Your intelligence is obvious. Therefore, I'm quite interested in you." (Of course, I was interested in any female in my school who wanted to join me for some nookie, but I didn't tell her that!)

Candace got me back on topic. "Regarding your post...I'm a virgin but I’m very curious about sex," she admitted. "I've never had a boyfriend in my life, much less a sexual relationship with anyone. Elliott, I suspect we're both cut from the same cloth. We're good at school, but not so good at romancing the opposite sex. Am I right about that, Elliott?"

"Wow! That's me exactly. Now I'm really interested in you, Candace. Besides, I think you are a beautiful girl. I really do." That wasn't just a line I was throwing out to her. Candace had a very nice figure for an eighth-grade girl along with an extremely cute face. Boys who were scared off by her intelligence were fools and they were missing out on a good thing. "We must get together!" I insisted.

"I agree!" she said. “I'm a latch-key kid. After school I'm on my own until 6 p.m. at the earliest. Both my parents don't get home from their jobs until then, often much later. I have the house to myself for at least two hours. My parents trust my judgement. I can have visitors while they're away—even special visitors, like you would be, Elliott. The best part is that I live just three blocks from this school. If we hurry, after we are dismissed this afternoon, we can get there in a couple of minutes and start exploring each other. I'd like that."

"I'd love that!" I blurted.

"Great!" Candace commented. "Let's get together today during lunchtime. I'll find you in the lunchroom so we can finalize everything." Candace gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, a sexy wink, and then scurried off somewhere, presumably to her locker near her homeroom.

I was so tempted to rush to the principal’s office to tell Mr. Paisley my ad had worked despite his outrage and efforts to suppress it. However, I was too busy being happy to get into a squabble with him. I did reserve the right to boast after the fact, however.

Candace kept her word and found me seated with my usual dining companions in the lunchroom. I promptly abandoned my friends the moment I saw her. "Gotta go, fellows," I explained. "I have to talk to that pretty girl who answered my ad, bless her lustful, little heart." I didn't stick around to see the expressions on their faces. They probably assumed no girl in the entire school would have positively responded to my pedestrian attempt to get laid. Yet one had!

Candace and I found a secluded table in a back corner of the lunchroom where we could chat openly without fear of being overheard.

"Are we still on for right after school?" was the first thing she asked me.

I laughed and said, "I was going to ask you the very same question, Candace. Of course, I am. In fact, I can hardly wait. For some reason, the time seems to be moving slowly today."

"Yeah, I feel the same way,” Candace agreed. “I’m constantly watching the clock in every classroom. By the way, I telephoned my mother from the office to tell her I'd be bringing home a new friend I met today at school named Elliott."

"That's absolutely true," I said. "There's nothing deceitful about that."

Candace replied, "I told her we'd be working on geography homework."

"Honesty is overrated!" I joked.

Candace laughed at my observation and said, "Anyway, I'm looking forward to what we’ll be doing after school today, Elliott. I want to see for myself if sex is all it's cracked up to be. I hope I don't disappoint you."
"As long as we're in the same house together, you can't disappoint me," I told her sincerely. "I hope I will please you, Candace. I've been fantasizing about something like this since the sixth grade."

"I have you beat," Candace retorted. "I started getting my first sexual urges when I was in the fifth grade."
"Naughty girl! I love it!" I responded.

Candace and I spent the remainder of the lunch period simply getting to know each other. We both had no siblings. Our parents all held important management positions at their jobs. They had high expectations for us to do well in school every semester. We both enjoyed oldies rock-and-roll songs, reading, doing crossword puzzles, and fantasizing about sex—not necessarily in that order.

"I can't wait to begin, Elliott," Candace told me. "I'm practically jumping out of my skin in anticipation."

"I know I'll have trouble focusing on schoolwork this afternoon,” I noted with dismay. “That's for certain because I was having trouble focusing on it this morning. I can attest that’s not like me at all.”

Candace nodded in agreement. "Once the final bell rings this afternoon, I'll meet you at your locker as soon as I can."

When the lunch period ended, we both instinctively hugged and kissed one another. Such open displays of affection were rather uncommon at Oak Street Middle School. Ours attracted a few gawkers. We ignored them, finished our embrace, and went our separate ways.

Part Four

My afternoon classes were far more interesting than my morning ones, so the time did not seem to pass as slowly as it had before lunch. Still, I bolted from the classroom when we were dismissed for the day. I fumbled a bit with my lock due to the excitement that was engulfing me. I quickly donned my winter coat—it was February—and waited for Candace’s arrival. She must have set a speed record too, because she had to climb a flight of stairs to get to her locker and then descend the same set to be at mine. I did not see her approach me. She surprised me with a bear hug from behind.

“I hope the person who’s presently hugging me is Candace Clark, because I’m going to screw whomever is embracing me!” I quipped.

“I was told you had an odd sense of humor, Elliott,” Candace told me from behind. “That’s something I can easily get used to, though.” I closed my locker, took Candace by the hand. Together, we pretty much sprinted out the door and onto the street. Considering we were confronted by high winds and a bit of blowing snow, we made it to Candace’s house in a remarkably short time.

Candace took my coat, placed it on a rack, and led me into a guest room. “I figured we should do our fucking here,” she felt the need to explain. “I can tidy it up very quickly and change the linen tomorrow when no one else is home and I have plenty of time to do it.” I liked this girl! She was practical, logical—and nicely built for a 14-year-old female.

I began the carnal festivities by announcing, “Candace Clark, thank you for responding to my risqué notice on the school bulletin board. I intend to give you a good fucking.”

“That’s funny; I’m here for exactly the same reason, Elliott Sanderson,” Candace humorously replied. “Okay. That’s enough talking. We both know why we’re here!”

We both started to undress. Because of the cold, wintry weather I had both a shirt and sweater on, so my task was laborious. Candace had a very feminine, pink sweater with a snowflake motif on it. Cute as it was, she looked much better to me once she had removed it. She was adorable in her bra and panties.

I hurried to get naked, but I noticed a bit of hesitancy creep in to Candace’s mind. My gentlemanly upbringing caused me to tell her, “You don’t have to do this, Candace. If you change your mind about having sex with me today, I’ll understand.”

“I’m okay. Just jitters,” she said and promptly dropped her bra to the floor. He powder-blue panties followed shortly thereafter. For the first time in my young life, I was in a bedroom with a naked girl. I was fully aroused.

I didn’t want to seem like a pig, but I didn’t want to seem afraid, either. I took a safe approach by sitting next to Candace and gently embracing her. A long kiss followed. That seemed to release some of the tension and we both climbed onto the bed. We ended up in a side-by-side position, which I didn’t mind in the slightest as I could freely caress Candace’s breasts. They were absolute gems: firm but pliable, with terrific protruding nipples. I couldn’t have wished for a better pair to grope. “These are fantastic tits you have, Candace. I’m a lucky guy,” I told her.

“Let me check out what you brought to the table, Elliott!” Candace demanded. She rolled over to face me and immediately grabbed my shaft. I hadn’t expected that, so I was a bit startled—pleasantly startled. “Very solid and straight as an arrow! Just what I’d hoped for, Elliott.” I thanked her for the praise. I had never thought of myself as possessing anything too significant below the belt.

She began slowly tugging on it. As Candace did that to my erect manhood, I gave her a very passionate kiss while fondling her sexy nipples. We both seemed to enjoy what we were doing—and we had just begun!

“May I suck on it, Elliott?” she asked politely.

That question amused me, so I responded primly, “You have my permission to place my dick in your mouth, miss Candace Clark. Please do!”

“Why don’t you lick my pussy at the same time?” Candace suggested.

“That’s an excellent idea!” I declared. Candace was the perfect size for that sex act as her hairy vagina met my mouth while my dick entered hers. I figured I wouldn’t last too long with this level of sexual stimulation, but before I came, I desperately wanted to shove my rod into Candace’s vagina. Therefore, I stopped the very enjoyable “69” position way earlier than I would have preferred.

“I need to penetrate you now, Candace. Trust me on that.” I proclaimed.

“Sure!” she said. She lied on her back, spread her legs, and said to me, “Hop aboard, Elliott!”

I did. I wish I had been romantic about this portion of our romp, but I entered Candace more roughly than I intended to. I just drove my penis into her with vigorous thrusts. I moaned—and Candace moaned right back at me. After about 90 seconds of basic fucking, Candace requested I pull out. “I’d rather you not come inside me, Elliott. I know it’s very tempting, but there are consequences.”

“No problem,” I replied. There almost was a problem when I sensed an orgasm was imminent. I managed to escape from the clutches of Candace’s vagina with about five seconds to spare.

I fired my warm ejaculate across her torso, with a goodly amount of goo landing on her tits. It was a scenario I had envision since I was 12. I was quite pleased by the outcome. Candace must have been pleased too. She said she had come to an orgasm just as I pulled out of her. She merrily giggled at the mess I had made on her chest. “That was a great physical sensation, Elliott. Thank you!”

“You are the one who ought to be thanked, Candace. That was a truly wonderful experience for me—considering I’ve only known you for about nine hours.”

Candace consulted the clock on the wall, did the math, and said, “Jeez, that’s right! It’s been a great first day together.”

“Candace,” I said gently, “the whole idea of this get-together was it was not to be a romantic encounter. It was merely supposed to be a one-off for the two of us to freely explore sexual intercourse without any complications or commitments…”

I could see Candace starting to frown, so I changed gears quickly.

“…But I say to hell with that! Candace, I think we were made for each other. Like you said to me this morning, we’re cut from the same cloth. Therefore, if you’re in the market for a full-time boyfriend, I’d like to be that guy.”

Candace practically glowed when she replied, “That would be wonderful, Elliott, but I insist on lots of sex, too.”

“Yeah, I can live with that,” I deadpanned. We both laughed.

We embraced each other for the next 30 minutes. Candace made me come for a second time with a surprisingly good hand job that produced another sizable load from my testicles. As I recovered, a thought occurred to me. “Do you have a telephone directory in the house?” I asked my sexy, teenage bedmate.

“I’m sure I can find one somewhere,” Candace answered with a puzzled expression on her face. “Who in the world do you want to phone at this particular time?”

“Our principal, Mr. Paisley!” I replied. “I eagerly want to tell him that I got laid, you were sexually satisfied, and his plans to stop it failed miserably.”