The Sophomores' Club 14

Sophomores Alex and three classmates crash a middle school dance to woo pretty 14-year-old girls. Alex reaps the affections of little sister's amorous friends.

Part One

My mother was a very attractive woman. I, Alex Palmer, always heard that from very many sources in case I never noticed it myself. Of course, I knew it; it was obvious to me since I was a little boy. She passed along her beauty to my sister, Rosalie, who was two years younger than I was.

One day when I was 16, I was in the kitchen with my mother, just chatting. Rosalie had two female friends from school in our living room. They were diligently working on their homework together. Dad came home, said hello to the girls, and then walked into the kitchen. The first thing he said to Mom and me when he was sure that the trio in the living room couldn’t hear him was, “You know you’re getting old when your daughter’s friends start to become attractive.” Mom gave Dad a bit of a dirty look, but I laughed immediately. I was thinking the same thing myself when I saw Cathy Weston and Fran Nolan, both 14, alongside my sister. They were rather fetching girls who were quite probably objects of desire among the boys in their eighth-grade class.

The very next day, when I was eating lunch at my high school with three longtime buddies (Bennett, Bradley and Mike), we were bemoaning the lack of romantic success we were having with girls in our sophomore class. The stunningly good-looking ones all seemed to have older boyfriends, and the average-looking ones did not give us the time of day because we weren’t juniors or seniors. We weren’t exactly movie-star types, but we weren’t repulsive, either. We were average 16-year-old boys in every way.

It occurred to me that we four lovelorn lads were missing the obvious. I asked, “How many of us come from a family where the father is older than the mother?” All of us, including me, raised our hands.

“Why did you ask us that question, Alex?” Bennett inquired.

“I wanted to verify a theory,” I stated. “It seems far more common for couples to have an older male than an older female or a situation where both parties are the very same age.”

Mike said, “What are you driving at, Alex?”

“Simple! None of us presently has a girlfriend because we’re fishing in the wrong pond. We should be pursuing younger girls for romance—not girls our own age. Look around. All the beauties our age have older boyfriends. Even my sister, who attends middle school, has a high school boyfriend—Mark Mulligan. He’s exactly the same age we are.”

“He’s a lucky guy!” Bradley said. “Your little sister is smoking hot, Alex.” Among teenage boys, that term was the newest synonym for “gorgeous.”

I was momentarily stunned by that comment. It was the first time in my life that I had heard any of my friends say such a thing about Rosalie. For a moment I teetered on being angry, but then I realized that Bradley was making my point for me. I just smiled and said, “I can’t deny that at all. My sister takes after my mother.”

“Yeah, your mother is good looking, too, Alex,” Bradley added.

After a suitable pause, I continued. “I guarantee there are plenty of first-rate 14-year-old girls out there who would be thrilled to have the four of us as boyfriends simply because we’re older and wiser than they are. In effect, we’d be status symbols for them.”

We all looked at each other. There was dead silence: None of us could come up with a reason why this wouldn’t work and why we shouldn’t try to woo some eager eighth-grade girls.

“Here’s where we can start,” I suggested. “This Friday night there’s a dance at our old stomping grounds, Riverside Avenue Middle School—the same one my sister now attends. I say we all ought to attend it, too. We’ll go stag, buy tickets, and try to pick up the prettiest girls we can find there.”

Mike asked, “Do you think we’d even be allowed to buy tickets? We’re ex-students, not present-day students.”

“I know that Mark Mulligan has no trouble getting in. He’s taken my sister to the last two school dances there—and he never attended Riverside. If they let him buy a ticket, they have to let us do the same, too.”

“What if the eighth-grade boys object to us trying to make time with the girls their age?” Bennett asked.

“They can focus on the sixth-grade girls!” I retorted. “See how this system works!”

We laughed and unanimously agreed that we would crash this Friday night’s middle school dance in search of the company of comely eighth-grade girls. The bell then rang to end our lunch period. Before we rose from our chairs, I said in my most authoritarian voice, “I declare this meeting of Club 14 to be adjourned!”

Part Two

Come Friday night, I briefly encountered my sister as she prepared for Mark Mulligan’s arrival to walk her to the dance. Rosalie looked very nice, as usual. (I was always reluctant to openly praise my sister about anything. Razz her, yes. Compliment her, no.) She was wearing a blue taffeta party dress that was definitely eye=catching. Rosalie would definitely be hard to overlook tonight. When I said I’d see her later on in her school’s gym, she was surprised. At first, I kidded Rosalie, saying I wanted to make sure that Mark behaved himself at the dance. Then I informed her that I and three of my high school buddies had decided to “go to the dance for fun”—just like she and Mark were doing. Rosalie enigmatically said, “I know two girls who will be happy to see you there.” That remark concluded her conversation with me, and she went inside her bedroom.

Bennett, Mike, Bradley and I all arrived at our former school within five minutes of each other and waited in the queue to buy our individual tickets. We each paid the required $1 entry fee. We were not questioned in the slightest by the parent volunteer who collecting everyone’s cash. Once that minor obstacle was overcome, I said, “See, we made it in without a hint of trouble. Good luck, you guys. Have fun, but we’re on our own now. My goal is to romance the prettiest girl here.”

“Alex, that presents a problem. The prettiest girl here will undoubtedly be your sister,” Bradley noted. “She’s off limits to you, but can I have a crack at Rosalie instead?”

“You can take that up with Mark Mulligan,” I said with an insincere scowl as I walked inside the gym to scout the territory.

There were already approximately 40 attendees in the gym waiting for the music to start. The deejay appeared to be another parent volunteer. He had a nametag that simply said “Dave”. He was in charge of an enormous collection of 45-r.p.m. records that he had organized into a filing system. I was impressed by it; I wish I could have studied it. He also possessed a state-of-the-art turntable by 1976 standards.

With a quick glance, I quickly noticed he had some songs that predated the rock-and-roll era. I asked him if he’d take requests over the course of the night. He said, “Absolutely—if I have the songs here!” I mentioned a few old romantic song titles and he said he definitely had those ones available. He was impressed by my musical knowledge—which I thought was common knowledge. My parents were both music enthusiasts so I had acquired a strong acquaintance of old and new popular music mostly by osmosis.

“You must be the mushy type,” Dave deduced. “These are all slow-dance love songs, you devil!”

“Bingo!” I said enthusiastically. “That’s why I’m here tonight. I’m not here to stand five feet away from a pretty dance partner and do the hully-gully.” That quip made him smile.

I turned away from Dave and immediately encountered my sister’s friend, Cathy Weston.

“Cathy, you look gorgeous!” I blurted out. She did, indeed! Cathy was wearing a frilly yellow gown trimmed in white lace. She was also wearing a brassiere that accentuated her best assets.

“You really think so, Alex? Thanks so much for the compliment. I always try to look my best at school dances. What an unexpected thrill to see you here!” She was obviously unaccompanied because she asked me for the first dance. I accepted, of course.

I suffered through two fast-playing disco tunes from the current Top 40 where Cathy and I did not even hold hands. Then I shouted to my new friend, deejay Dave, “‘Moonlight Serenade,’ please.”

I’m sure most of the kids in the Riverside gym were not very familiar with it, but it was considered a highly romantic tune in 1939 when it was released by Glenn Miller & His Orchestra. The version most people know is instrumental, but the song does have words—which I knew. Everyone with an ounce of sense recognized it to be an ideal slow-dance tune, so I enfolded the beautiful Cathy in my arms…and proceeded to sing the lyrics into her ear as we swayed to the music.

I had never laid a finger on this girl until that moment, but I could tell that Cathy was as eager for close physical contact as I was. The music began and I sang softly, “I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight. I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night. The roses are sighing a moonlight serenade…”

“Moonlight Serenade” is about 3½ minutes long—and I spent every second of it sexily swaying with Cathy and whispering the romantic words into her ear. When the song ended, Cathy unabashedly kissed me on the lips and then told me, “Wow! That was easily the sexiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Alex. Thanks!”

“I think I have to agree!” I told her. We weren’t alone. The throng of mostly 13- and 14-year-olds overwhelmingly demanded an immediate encore of “Moonlight Serenade.” (Somewhere the ghost of Glenn Miller was smiling.) Cathy and I embraced for round number two. I was going to stay silent this time as the tune played, but Cathy had other ideas. “Please sing the lyrics to me again, Alex, and I’ll just melt in your arms. You singing this particular song to me is just so very sexy!” As that was something I absolutely wanted to experience, I obliged and sang an encore. I tried to sound as romantic as possible. It must have worked because when the last notes were sounded, Cathy had me in a very extended lip-lock—and I had a raging erection.

“Aroused?” she asked me.

“Very!” I said honestly. “How can you tell?”

She quickly replied, “Either you have a massive erection or a roll of quarters at the front of your pants. Which is it?”

I laughed. “Do I really need to give you an answer, Cathy? Dancing with you has made me hard as a diamond.”

“Can I take care of that for you?” she asked me with an air of understanding and kindness in her voice.
I didn’t quite know how to interpret that wonderfully sexy offer, but I figured whatever Cathy had in mind to “help” me was the type of help I should never reject. Thus, I said, “Yes, would you, please?”

“Follow me!” Cathy instructed—and I obeyed.

Most of the rest of the school was cordoned off, except for access to the boys’ and girls’ washrooms, and the cafeteria were snacks and drinks were being sold by other parent volunteers. Cathy knew something about her middle school that had changed since I’d graduated two years before. Within a secluded corner of the cafeteria there was now a special washroom designed for students with disabilities. It was seldom used. No one noticed when Cathy opened the door and we both sneaked inside for whatever carnal fun she had planned at the spur of the moment.

When Cathy flicked on the light switch, I saw the room was very spacious. I was about to comment on how surprisingly big it was, but Cathy put her index finger in front of her lips to indicate we needed to be as quiet as possible. I expected a hand job at best, but Cathy whispered, “Alex, get undressed swiftly and I’ll give you a quick fuck. I’ve never done this before, but you and ‘Moonlight Serenade’ put me in the mood for my first-ever screw!” Cathy made sure the door was locked.

I undressed in record time so I could have the pleasure of watching Cathy remove her bra and panties. It was very erotic. Cathy had gorgeous, firm breasts for a girl her age, and just the slightest amount of hair on her pussy. I wish we were in a hotel or motel room somewhere so we could enjoy the experience better, but if the site of my fucking Cathy Weston had to be a special washroom in Riverside’s cafeteria, so be it!

We were only about three inches different in height; I was about 5’9” tall to her 5’6”. Cathy and I stood face to face. She stood on her toes so we could begin our encounter with a romantic buss. Then she gently grabbed my rigid shaft and began to caress it. Wow! What a great feeling, but I also knew I would not last very long with beautiful Cathy engaged in sexual activities with me. I responded by caressing her magnificent tits. I told her, “These are lovely, Cathy…just like you.” I always was a pretty good sweet-talker when the need arose.

After about five minutes of sensuous groping, Cathy said, “I’m ready, Alex. Put your dick in my pussy, please.”

I thought the ‘please’ part of her request was endearing, as if I’d somehow say no. There was a question of logistics that was best solved by putting the lid of the toilet seat down with me sitting atop it. Cathy climbed aboard and I gently lifted her onto my throbbing dick.

Cathy, a thoroughly pleased, busty young babe, gyrated and bounced merrily for about a minute. I was thrilled by the intercourse but supremely cautious. “Cathy, I’m enjoying this more than anything I’ve ever done in my life, but I better pull out right now or you’ll end up with a gallon of my hot sperm in your tight, little, sexy vagina.”

I lifted Cathy away from the immediate launch area, but she insisted on making me come with a hand job. Only three timely tugs were required to put me over the edge. I spewed a huge load that shot several inches into the air. A portion of it struck Cathy’s left breast—a sight I found to be highly erotic.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t have your pretty dress on, Cathy,” I stated. “My semen would have left an awful stain.”

“I knew that, Alex,” she said. “Besides, I wanted to get intimate with you. I’ve wanted to make love with you since I was in the fourth grade. I don’t visit your house just to see Rosalie. I like to gawk at you from afar. I didn’t think you really noticed me before tonight.”

Most of that revelation was news to me. Still, I said, “I’ve noticed you for quite a while Cathy. You have the best looks of any of Rosalie’s friends,” I told her.

“What about Fran Nolan?” she asked mischievously.

I diplomatically paused and said, “You two are 1A and 1B.”

“Which one of us is 1A?” Cathy persisted with a naughty grin plastered on her face.

“The girl who just made me ejaculate a big wad of goo—that’s who!” I said with a smile…and then we warmly embraced. I felt an odd dampness on my chest and realized it was from the sticky semen that had landed on Cathy’s tits. I was glad I was undressed too! Explaining a cum stain on my clothing to my mother might be tricky and was best avoided.

“I guess we ought to get back to the gym and dance some more,” I suggested.

“Sure,” Cathy replied, “but I know for a fact that 1B wants to dance with you, too. I’m not sure I’m in favor of that now. Alex, I want you all for myself.”

“I want you for myself, too, Cathy. Oh, how I want you! But if it will make Fran Nolan happy, I’ll dance with her once or twice, too.” We cleaned up my mess as best we could, got dressed, and stealthily vacated the special washroom one at a time. If we had left it together, it would have looked highly suspicious.

We got back to the gym. Cathy had been right. Fran Nolan was patiently awaiting my return. It was the first time I had seen her at the dance. Wow! She was a gorgeous teenage girl, too, clad in a flimsy rust-colored dress that sexily clung to her excellent, shapely body.

“Hi, Fran!” I greeted her. “I understand you would like to dance with me.”

“Yes, I sure would, Alex. I’ve never told you this, but I’ve had a crush on you for a few years—ever since I was in the fifth grade and started to notice boys. You were one of the first I noticed because I was at your house so often to play with Rosalie.”

“I’m flattered, Fran. You are a real doll. My sister has excellent friends who all look sensational to me. When they get dressed up for a school dance—and even when they don’t.”

I secretly hoped for another slow song so I could enjoy cuddling with Fran to some sexy music as I had with Cathy. I was about to suggest “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” by Paul Anka to deejay Dave, but before I could make an official request for it, he made a timely announcement. He said, “We’ve had a repeat request for ‘Moonlight Serenade,’ so here it is for a third time tonight. Enjoy!”

I strongly suspected I’d be making another trip for two to the special washroom in the cafeteria before the dance concluded. The dollar I had spent to attend a middle school dance was the best investment I’d ever made in my young life!