Eighth-Grade History Lesson

After being sexually aroused by a history lesson that focused on young teenage parents, Martin and Kim, both 14, decide to do some historical role-playing!

Part One

I, Marty Summerville, have always had a love of history—at least since I was old enough to appreciate the stories of the past.

It certainly did not come from my mother, who knew very little about it, nor my older sister who practically despised the subject. On the other hand, my father loved learning about the past and discussing all its aspects at length. In an era before cable TV, when people had limited over-the-air television channels, Dad would scan our weekly copy of TV Guide to look for rare documentary programming. Military history especially appealed to him. He passed along his love for the subject to me by insisting I watch those hard-to-find, quality programs with him. I didn’t need to be cajoled: I was eager to learn, too. Not long after I started doing that, I was the one who was searching the weekly listings for quality history programs for the two of us to enjoy.

When the seventh grade began for me in 1976 and history became a separate school subject, I was thrilled. Because I had learned so many things from my father, the curriculum often seemed like a review to me. I routinely aced exams and projects.

In the eighth grade, when I was 14, an excellent teacher, Mr. Eddelton, began an intense unit on New France. It is the basic foundation of Canada—the country where I lived. French explorers made a few long trips across the Atlantic Ocean and learned there was a vast continent waiting for European settlement. During the first decade of the seventeenth century, the first true French settlers arrived in what they called Quebec and settled along farmland that touched the St. Lawrence River.

I learned early on that many people find history boring if their teachers don’t make it a lively subject. Mr. Eddelton was a gem—always stressing the human element of the subject whenever he taught us a lesson. One of his lessons about New France was undoubtedly designed to get a reaction from his class of 13- and 14-year-olds. It was about the few career options available to youthful settlers. Mr. Eddleton noted that there were three possible jobs for men: farmer, priest, or voyageur. Voyageurs were brave souls who ventured westward via canoe to trade European-made goods with the natives for animal skins—especially the hides of beavers which were in demand by hatmakers across the Atlantic. Voyageurs certainly led romantic and adventurous lives. However, they were considered mavericks and barely civilized ruffians within the respectable households of New France. No sensible farmer encouraged his son to be a voyageur.

Girls’ options were even fewer. A girl could become the wife of a farmer or become a nun. That was about it. Mr. Eddleton caught our attention when he mentioned that New France had a law that required boys to be married no later than age 16—and girls had to be wed by age 14! I recall a noticeable gasp in the class—especially among the females. “Staying single was not an option,” Mr. Eddleton emphasized. “The reason for this law being on the books was obvious: The younger people got married, the more French babies could be born to help populate the colony. A girl’s primary role in new France was to be a wife and a serial mother, conceiving one child after another. If you didn’t like it, you could always join a convent.” That succinct assessment of things elicited a longer and louder gasp from the girls.

I raised my hand to make a wisecrack, as was my nature. I proffered, “That sounds like a great plan to me. Every girl here in this classroom would have to be married within about a year and start making babies. I think we need some sort of hands-on historical role-playing exercise, sir. It would be fun and educational, that’s for sure.”

Most of the boys laughed at my blunt comment, including Mr. Eddleton. However, most—but not all—of the girls glared or scowled at me.

I decided to throw out an offer. I announced, “Any girl who wants to play New France with me at recess is invited to come to my desk when the bell rings.”

Mr. Eddleton stated, “I think you made your point, Marty. I also suspect you overplayed your hand.” Amazingly, I had not.

Part Two

Mr. Eddleton told us to read six pages from our history textbook about New France’s society and government for homework. Some of the more zealous pupils did their reading in the few minutes that we had before the recess bell. Others simply talked or walked about the classroom. Mr. Eddleton was not much of a classroom disciplinarian, which was a rarity in 1978.

While I was reading, a girl named Kim Jenkins casually walked by my desk. She subtly dropped a folded note on it and hurried away. I put down my textbook and opened up the note. To my delight it said, “I’d love to play New France with you, Marty. I’ve always wanted to play New France with you! I think you are a handsome and great guy! Let’s talk about it during recess. Love, Kim Jenkins.” At the bottom of her note were half a dozen hearts and a small drawing that I had trouble discerning. Then I realized it was a representation of a penis about to enter a vagina. It wasn’t a Rembrandt, but it certainly illustrated what Kim wanted to do with me.

By the time I finished reading the note, Kim was coolly seated at her desk at the other side of the classroom. I looked toward her—which she fully expected me to do as she was staring at me waiting for a response. I smiled, give her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and blew her a kiss. She blew me one back. There were 30 seconds to go before recess began. It was the longest half-minute of my life.

Kim Jenkins had been in my class on and off since the third grade. She was a tall, slender girl (nearly my height) without much of a figure but she did have a very pretty face and a perceptible glow about her. A short-haired brunette, Kim was a capable student who was always cheerful and upbeat. I understood her family was rather well-to-do. This became obvious around Christmastime in 1972. That was when our third-grade class unanimously agreed to have a “Secret Santa” event. Our teacher, Mrs. McIntyre, arranged the logistics for everyone.

She wrote out the names of all 31 students and put them each into individual envelopes with accompanying letters. Those notes explained to parents that their child had randomly drawn this envelope containing the name of a fellow classmate. On the last Day before Christmas Break, their child was to bring a present to class for that student—and the cost could not exceed 50 cents! No one was to reveal whose name they drew until the moment when everyone got his or her gift. Mrs. McIntyre conducted the lottery as we were dismissed at the end of one day. As we exited her class, we each grabbed a sealed envelope from an empty wastebasket. We were instructed not to open it until when we got home, and in the presence of a parent to best preserve the secrecy about it.

I have long forgotten the name of the student whose name I drew, but I remember that Kim Jenkins had drawn mine because she gave me a hockey stick! They cost a fortune now. In 1972 they were considerably cheaper, but it still had to have cost Kim somewhere in the neighborhood of $8 to $10 at a time when a chocolate bar cost just a dime. Without question, I had received the most expensive gift anyone did. I also got a quick hug from Kim. As an eight-year-old boy, it didn’t occur to me that Kim was probably smitten with me—and wanted to indicate it by splurging on my gift and totally ignoring the 50-cent maximum set by Mrs. McIntyre. I figured if Kim was that liberal in her spending habits, I figured she’d likely have the same mindset about having sex with me as an indirect way of “studying New France.” Yippee!

Part Three

When the bell rang, both Kim and I remained in our respective seats until all the other students had left Mr. Eddleton’s classroom. Mr. Eddleton himself had left the room, wrongly assuming that everyone else would, too. Seeing that we were now alone, Kim left her desk and approached me. I wasn’t exactly sure what the customary greeting was for a girl who had just written me the sexiest note I had ever gotten in my life. (Okay, it was the only sexy note I had ever received.) I figured I should at least embrace her lovingly, so I did. Kim was of the same mind and we quickly were kissing and groping each other.

When we momentarily paused our mutual affection, I said, “Hello, Kim. This was all rather quick and unexpected, but I certainly am in favor of it. Thanks for the note. I loved receiving it.”

“I loved writing it!” Kim replied. “Marty, you’ve been a favorite classmate of mine forever. I figured you opened the door today during history class to give me the ideal chance to tell you. Frankly, I’m surprised I’m the only girl who responded to your offer.”

I laughed and told Kim, “I’m surprised some girl didn’t slap me, but I like your assessment better!”

Kim hugged me and kissed me again—I was really starting to like this girl—and stated the obvious. “We can’t do any screwing during the nine or ten minutes left in recess. We’d get caught for sure!”

“Yes, that would almost be guaranteed!” I interrupted.

“So, let’s do it today, but after school!” Kim suggested.

“Where?” I asked.

Kim surprised me by asking, “How about right here? We can both linger on the school property until we see Mr. Eddelton drive off. Then we’ll come back to this classroom, find a secluded spot where no passerby can possibly see us, and…well, you know.”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of free time after school! Count me in, Kim,” I said.

We never did go out for recess. We just stayed within the classroom and smooched. I really was starting to like everything about this girl!

Part Four

When the last bell of the school day rang, Kim and I stuck to our plan. We made it appear that we were leaving the grounds just like every other student. Then we went to an area of the school library that had a window that overlooked the teachers’ parking lot. We positioned ourselves in such a way that we could see every teacher who got into any vehicle. Neither one of us honestly knew what Mr. Eddelton’s car looked like. We both certainly knew what Mr. Eddelton looked like, though, and easily recognized him as he got into a brown Pontiac. In less than 30 seconds he drove off.

We headed back to the now-vacated classroom. Near an exit, it was the last one set in a long corridor. Schools generally empty out quickly when the final bell rings. The only dawdlers seem to be some teachers, the janitorial staff, or students involved in some type of after-school activity. There was nothing whatsoever going on at this end of the school. Kim and I both somehow knew that the custodians began their work in the classrooms that served they younger grades, as they were invariably the messiest and required the most attention each day. Kim said with a noticeable air of excitement, “I doubt any janitor will be in this classroom for at least 30 minutes. Do you think that’s enough time for us to have a fuck, Martin?”

“Yeah, a quick one,” I calmly agreed. Honestly, I was hoping to last two minutes before ejaculating. If I lasted 30 minutes before launching my load, it would be nothing short of miraculous. Whatever the outcome, I figured this gift was far better than the hockey stick I had gotten from Kim in 1972.

Kim selected a spot behind Mr. Eddelton’s desk. It could not be seen unless you were standing within five feet of that desk. Its location provided an almost perfect screen for Kim and me to do our business.
As we started to disrobe, Kim said, “Remember we are supposed to be 14-year-old settlers of New France in the seventeenth century. Let’s act French.”

“How do we do that?” I asked while removing my shirt.

“Well, let’s speak with French accents. For example, you aren’t Marty right now; you are Mar-tan, with the emphasis on the last syllable. I am Kim-bare-lee, with the emphasis on the middle syllable. Let’s make everything else we say sound as French as possible.”

“Kim…I mean Kim-bare-lee,” I laughed, “you’re a little bit crazy…but so am I.” I sounded like Louis Jourdan when I added, “I cannot wait to fuck your pussy” as a Frenchman would.

Kim replied in perfect French, “Je veux voir ton pénis!”

I must have looked puzzled because I needed a translation: “I said, I want to see your penis.”

Kim was obviously a better French student than I was. I did manage to say, “Oui, mademoiselle!” then I smiled and dropped my briefs to the floor, exposing a fully erect phallus. Kim quickly ditched her A-cup bra. I didn’t care if her tits were utterly microscopic; I was hard as a rock already.

We each got completely naked and embraced on the floor in the hidden confines of classroom #16. It was the best hug I’d ever had in my life. I loved the feel of Kim’s small, perky breasts poking at my chest. It was tempting to use Mr. Eddelton’s chair for comfort, but we would be spotted by anyone who looked through the classroom window or via the small window on the door we had smartly shut. Thus, we fucked on a hard floor made of interlocking tiles. It was hardly an ideal locale, but I wasn’t about to quibble over such trivial details.

“Let us make the baby, Kim-bare-lee!” I demanded.

“Do you know where to put your cock, Mar-tan?” she asked me kiddingly. At least I figured she was kidding.

“In the beautiful pussy of yours, Kim-bare-lee!” I answered.

“Very good, Mar-tan!” she replied. “Let me prepare it for your big penis!”

I liked the compliment, but it was far from accurate. From changing in gym class, I knew from simple observation I was outclassed by many of my peers in dick size.

Be that as it may, Kim started to rub her vagina. I immediately replaced her hand with mine as I sucked on one of the small treasures she had on her tall torso. It was the greatest feeling I had experienced in my life to date. I got up the nerve to place my face in Kim’s pussy and give it a few upward licks—which made her giggle.

“It’s my turn now!” Kim informed me. She knelt and took my penis into her mouth. I’m glad the blow job only lasted about 20 seconds because it was getting me close to the point of no return.

“Let us do the copulation, please, Mar-Tan!” Kim demanded.

“Oh, yes, Kim-bare-lee,” I noted. “This is why God made us—to produce many babies for the glory of France!” I was really getting into the spirit of our role playing. I drove my erection into Kim’s vagina, causing her to yelp.

“So sorry, Kim-bare-lee,” I told her. “Remember, to make an omelet you must break an egg. It cannot be avoided.” I hugged my sex partner tightly as I got into the novel rhythm of fucking a girl. I chanted, “Make a bay-bee! Make a bay-bee!” in concert with my thrusts.

Kim suddenly shifted back to perfect English as she instructed me, “Don’t really come inside me, Marty. Role-playing is fun, but I don’t want to be a mother for a few years yet.”

I’m glad she told me because I would have fired a load of warm goo into her pussy without a second thought. She had stopped me with abut half a minute to spare. I had just pulled my dick out of her when I heard a familiar voice.

“Hello, Marty…and Kim,” said Mr. Eddelton who had silently opened the classroom door and reentered the room without us knowing. Both our minds and bodies were otherwise occupied.

Kim shrieked in horror while I ejaculated all over her torso and face. Nothing could have stopped my coming at that very inopportune moment.

Mr. Eddelton was remarkably calm. “Well, this was an untimely interruption,” he declared. I apologize for intruding on your privacy.” He retrieved a box of tissues from his desk and handed them to Kimberly, trying is best not to stare at the nude, 14-year-old, female student of his.

“You are apologizing?” I said as a question, not a statement of fact.

“Yes, I was 14 once myself, you know. There was a shapely girl in my eighth-grade class named Eleanor Thomas. We did the same thing once after we thought everyone had left the school. We didn’t get caught, though…and I didn’t make such a mess on Eleanor nor on the classroom floor. Her name is now Mrs. Eddelton.”

“So, you’re not angry at us?” Kim asked our teacher somewhat incredulously while she desperately tried (but failed) to cover all three key parts of her female anatomy with just her two hands.

“No,” he said. “I knew immediately I’d marry Eleanor Thomas after having sex with her that day. I wouldn’t want to deprive you two of that opportunity.”

“We saw you drive off,” I noted. “Why did you return?”

Mr. Eddelton smiled at the logical question coming from me under such trying circumstances. “I left my wallet and my lunchpail in the bottom drawer of my desk,” he explained. “I can function without my lunchpail—but not my wallet. It has my driver’s license among other important things.”

“So...does that mean we won’t be punished?” Kim asked hopefully.

“That’s correct. As long as you both gets some paper towels from the washroom and clean up Marty’s cum shot before the janitor arrives here, that’s punishment enough!” he said.

We both thanked Mr. Eddelton simultaneously and quickly got dressed while our teacher politely turned his back to us. Kim was self-conscious enough to ask him another question. “Mr. Eddelton, how much did you see?”

He cavalierly remarked with a fake French accent, “Mar-tan and Kim-bare-lee, as the French say, ‘Juste un petit peu.’ He paused before adding, “The English translation is, ‘Just a little bit.’”

I expected Kim to wait for me, but she hustled out of the classroom to get the requested paper towels. I suppose her embarrassment of having been seen having sex by a male teacher—her male teacher!—was greater than mine. I was about to attempt to catch up with her when Mr. Eddelton said, “Wait a moment, Marty!”

I stopped to hear my teacher remark, “That was an impressive cum shot, Marty. Kim’s advice almost certainly saved you from teenage fatherhood. That was a good thing in New France back in the year 1635. It’s not such a positive in Canada in 1978.” He then surprised me with a man-to-man thumbs-up signal. I guess he was congratulating me for screwing Kim.

During the next day’s follow-up history lesson, Mr. Eddelton subtly glanced at both Kim and me as he said, “New France also had a high birthrate per married couple because birth control was unknown and, to be totally honest, undesired. Talk to your respective health teachers if you want to know more about that important topic.”