Mandy's Revenge

Gorgeous 14-year-old Mandy has a nasty breakup with her boyfriend Roger. What better way to humiliate him than to have sex with Dustin, Roger's longtime enemy?

Part One

My name is Dustin Farnham. Roger Wilson had been a classmate of mine since the first grade. I can safely say that since Day One we had not gotten along. In fact, I despised him, and I still do. Some things never change.

I was always a gifted student. I had been able to read since I was three—and I did so as often as I could. I was excellent at basic arithmetic, too. I loved watching game shows, particularly those that involved numbers. The old Art Fleming version of Jeopardy! was fascinating to me. Of course, most of the show’s questions were beyond me, but I was always transfixed by the three contestants’ money totals going up and down as the game progressed. Furthermore, I had been blessed with a superb memory which made learning things in any subject quite easy for me. Given my eagerness to learn everything I possibly could, it made me the target of Roger, a subpar pupil whose antics would be classified as bullying today. In 1970, when I began the first grade at Wellington Public School, Roger was just considered to be a loose cannon and a troublemaker.

My first truly negative experience with Roger occurred about a week into the school year. Mrs. Kensington was my first-grade teacher. She was a pleasant woman in her thirties whom I quite liked. She had given us a math sheet of basic addition questions. I easily sailed through it in about two minutes and quickly dropped it on her desk to be marked. When I did so, Mrs. Kensington’s attention was occupied by some other student, so she did not see me do that. At the end of the day, she could not find my sheet anywhere, so she asked me why I hadn’t submitted it. I told her I had been the first person to turn it in, and I had done so when she was talking to Marie Bailey. I made a point of pointing to the exact spot on her desk where I left it.

I helped her look for it. I found it, but it wasn’t on her desk. Instead, it had been torn in half and dropped into the nearby wastebasket! “Here it is!” I said with surprise. “Someone ripped it in two and tossed it here!”

“Now who would have done something like that?” she asked. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but six-year-old me suggested a culprit. “I think it was Roger Wilson. He’s exactly that type of person…and I know he doesn’t like me.”

“Dustin, you really shouldn’t accuse someone of doing something bad unless you have proof,” she cautioned me as she taped my paper back together and marked every answer as correct.

I replied, “Yes, but let’s see if it happens again tomorrow. I suspect it will.”

Sure enough, the same scenario repeated itself the next day—but this time I was watching. I turned in my math sheet, first as usual. When I returned to my desk I kept my eye on Roger, whose desk was situated only a short distance from Mrs. Kensington’s. As soon as her attention was diverted, he grabbed my math sheet, tore it in half, and tossed it into the wastebasket.

I immediately called him out on it. “Mrs. Kensington! I was right! Roger did it again! He just grabbed my math sheet from your desk, ripped it up, and threw it into your wastebasket.” My teacher quickly found the evidence. She immediately chastised Roger and roughly escorted him to the principal’s office. I later heard that when Roger was asked why he had done that, he was less than contrite. He muttered, “I don’t know; I just felt like it.”

At the end of the school day, I lingered near Mrs. Kensington’s desk without saying anything. When she asked me what I wanted, I told her, “I was expecting you to fully admit that I was right about Roger. I may not have had any evidence yesterday, but my hunch about him turned out to be absolutely right. I just wanted you to acknowledge it.” I was a precocious six-year-old. Mrs. Kensington just laughed and said, “You’re quite an unusual pupil, Dustin. You have a great command of words for someone who is your age.”

“Thanks,” I replied, “but I’m still waiting for you to admit that I was right yesterday.”

“Okay, you were right, Dustin,” Mrs. Kensington conceded with a smile.

“Thanks for that,” I said. Then I added, “I don’t think Roger’s playing with a full deck.”

Mrs. Kensington guffawed at that remark. “Where did you hear that phrase, Dustin?” she asked me.

“I heard it on a TV show the other night. It was Laugh-In. I asked my parents what it meant. They told me. I think it describes Roger perfectly.”

From that point onward, I hated Roger’s guts and would make a point of belittling his academic shortcomings at every opportunity with my gift for words. I preferred subtle jibes. Once when we were in the same third-grade class, our teacher, Mrs. Roberts, asked her pupils if we had done anything interesting on the weekend. I raised my hand and said that I had attended a screening of nature films at the public library that had been very entertaining. I slyly added that I hadn’t seen Roger there “because he’s never set foot in any public library in his life.”

Mrs. Roberts tried to suppress a smile. She told me that wasn’t a nice comment to make. “Perhaps,” I stated, “but it wasn’t inaccurate, was it?” Roger just looked on with a vacant expression as the rest of my classmates laughed. I was confident he didn’t even realize he had been deftly insulted.

In the fourth grade, when Roger answered a very simple question correctly, I commented, “Congratulations, Roger. You have a tremendous grasp of the obvious.” On another occasion, when the class was discussing current events, Roger thought Austria was “where the kangaroos lived,” clearly mixing it up with Australia. I promptly noted, “You’re not on Princeton’s radar, are you Roger?”

This time, my teacher, Miss Heather, tried to scold me for the impromptu insult that had gone way over Roger’s head, but she started laughing midway through it. At the end of the class, she quietly said to me, “Dustin, I think you could earn a steady living as a comedian or at least a comedy writer. You have a true knack for it. Some of your putdowns are really quite creative. You ought to send a few of them to Johnny Carson.” I took that as a great compliment.

One area of school in which Roger regularly surpassed me had nothing to do with academics, of course. It was success with the opposite sex. From about the age of eight onward, there were always two or three girls in my class whom I fancied. My father regularly asked me after the first day of each new school year if there were any pretty girls in my class. I always had the names of more than one to relay to him. Then he’d proudly tell my mother, “You see, Joan! Dustin is just like his old man! He has his eyes on the lovely ladies.”

That was certainly true, but I wasn’t having much success with romance, but I wasn’t really trying until the sixth grade. That year, when I turned 12, I desperately tried to become friendly with Judy Simmons, Claire O’Shea and Mandy Brighton. I’d try to start general conversations with all three of these girls—who were the most fetching females in the class—but they never amounted to much. I sort of had a girlfriend named Iris Gamble. Iris was pleasant, fun to be around, got at least average marks at school, and she seemed to adore me. Unfortunately, she had just average looks and was a little bit on the overweight side. Being a typical adolescent male, that was a big turnoff for me. I could always count on Iris if I needed a date for a school dance or other function, but I constantly set my goals for female companionship a bit higher than Iris.

By the time I was in the eighth grade, my focus was clearly on Amanda (Mandy) Brighton. She had become spectacularly good looking. Standing about 5’5”, Mandy had long brown hair that dipped three or four inches beyond her shoulders. She had a very pretty face featuring a cute nose that was slightly upturned. She was also a well-built lass. There wasn’t a normal male at the school who didn’t notice Mandy’s undeniably appealing figure. Mandy was just a C-student, but that mattered little to me. I desperately wanted to have a romp with her, but she was presently the girlfriend of the loathsome Roger Wilson.

To me, this defied logic. How any female, let alone the most alluring in my middle school, could be attracted to Roger Wilson was incomprehensible. Not only was Roger measurably stupid, he was also coarse to the point of being vulgar. He was one of the few classmates of mine who would openly drop f-bombs in the schoolyard—and sometimes even in the hallways. That sort of bad behavior was highly uncommon back in the 1970s, at least in the suburbia where I grew up. Once I mustered the courage to directly ask Mandy how she could have “such a jerk as a boyfriend,” she gave me an honest, forthright and unexpected answer. “He has a big penis and he’s good at sex.” That answer stung me. I concluded that life was horribly unfair.

Part Two

Monday, June 12, 1978 turned out to be a red-letter day for me. Mandy was a classmate of mine. Moments before the bell rang to start the day, she approached me to say she wanted to have lunch with me “as far away from everyone else in the cafeteria” as possible. I could scarcely believe my ears, but I retained enough composure to suggest the weather was pleasant enough for us to eat outdoors. (Many students did that on sunny days.) She agreed to meet me on the school’s north side where there was an incline where we could sit in solitude. I had to ask, “Won’t Roger Wilson object to you having lunch with me, his lifelong enemy?”

“That’s no concern of mine now,” she informed me. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. I’ll tell you all about it during lunch.” Hearing that Roger and Mandy were no longer a couple was the best news I’d heard in a long time.

When the bell for lunch rang, Mandy and I arrived at the appointed spot at about the same time. We had barely sat down when Mandy immediately went into a monologue to explain what had gone wrong with her relationship with Roger.

“This past Saturday was my cousin Anne’s wedding. I was invited to attend. Not only that, I was also allowed to bring a date. So I asked Roger to come with me. He did—and he made a total ass of himself at the reception. He began drinking wine—which he wasn’t supposed to do because he is underage. Then he got overly friendly with two of my other cousins, Anne’s sisters. Their ages are 12 and 11. He was putting his hands on places where they shouldn’t go. When he tried to grope my older sister Joyce, who’s 19 years old, that was the final straw. Joyce slapped him across the face. The father of the bride and the father of the groom quickly got involved. They both said Roger was no longer welcome at the reception. He was put into a cab and was sent home by himself. It was very humiliating for me. I spent most of the night crying and apologizing to Anne for Roger ruining her reception. The last thing I said to him as he got into the taxi was that we were through and I never wanted to speak to him again.”

That was a lot of information to process at once, but I was silently pleased. I couldn’t help but throw in a deserved, “I told you so, Mandy.”

“Yes, you did tell me that Roger was a jerk. I should have listened to you.”

I nodded and said, “It’s a shame that he had to ruin a family wedding for you to finally get the picture. I feel sorry for both you and your cousin--and everyone else he bothered. It’s also too bad that nothing can be done to rectify it.”

Mandy grinned at me and said, “There’s always revenge as an option.” I gave her an odd look and then she added, “That’s where you come in, Dustin.”

“I don’t understand,” I said honestly.

“I figure the best way to show my displeasure with Roger is for me to have a sexual relationship with the person in the world he dislikes the most…you!”

I was delighted by the idea, but I had questions. “How would he know about that?” I asked.

“I’d tell him!” Mandy stated.

“I thought you weren’t speaking to him,” I said.

“Dustin, I’ve thought this through. I wouldn’t tell Roger in words; I’d show him in pictures instead.”

“Pictures?” I said incredulously. “You’d send pictures of us having sex to Roger?”

“Yep, that’s my plan!” Mandy confirmed.

“Who would be the photographer?” I inquired. “We’d need a third person for this plan of yours to work, since it would be kind of awkward for one of us to be taking photos while we fucked.”

To my surprise Mandy had a quick response. She noted, “My older brother Joel said he’d do it. Once I came up with this plan, Joel was all in favor of it. He knew I was sexually active with Roger—and he didn’t like it.”

“I don’t think the local Fotomat is allowed to develop sexually explicit pictures, Mandy. That’s especially true if they show minors having sex,” I cautioned her.

She had a ready answer for that, too. “My brother is a good amateur photographer. He belongs to the camera club at his high school. He can develop his own photos in the school’s lab whenever he wants. Nobody else has to see them.”

I just laughed but I admired her determination. “Wow, you really do have this revenge plot of yours all planned out, Mandy! If you really want to do this, I’d love to give you a good fucking. Since we’re being totally honest with each other today, I’ve been wanting to screw you since the sixth grade.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “That’s the year all the boys in Mr. Hooper’s class were fixated on my tits, including Mr. Hooper.”

“Mr. Hooper had eyes that worked just as well as the 15 boys in his class,” I quipped. “You have a fabulous figure, Mandy. When and where do you want to do this?”

“The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned,” Mandy replied. “I’ll ask Joel about it tonight as soon as I get a chance to speak to him.”

Part Three

Mandy did speak to Joel that night. It took a bit of finagling, but the two of them concocted this plan: I’d be waiting near the front door of my school at 1:40 p.m. on Saturday, June 17. Joel and Mandy would pick me up in her parents’ car which Joel would borrow on some pretense. He’d drive us to an infamously sleazy motel that afternoon. (Joel could easily pass for 18 although he was just 17, so the clerk there had already allowed him to reserve a room for two hours.) That 120 minutes flattered me. I figured it would be a major accomplishment if I managed to last one-tenth of that time before wildly ejaculating. After all, I was going to screw the most sexually desirable girl in my middle school—and it was at her request!

The travel arrangements went off without a hitch. We checked into the motel. During our short walk to Room #14, if anyone had taken my pulse, it would have been off the charts as I began to gleefully imagine the delights I’d be having in riding sexy Mandy Brighton. It didn’t escape my mind that this was also a wonderful way for me to attack Roger, so I was going to enjoy the intercourse with Mandy all the more!

Joel really was a serious photographer. He brought along plenty of film, three expensive cameras, and all sorts of lenses and flashes to go along with them.

“My cameras are loaded with film and ready to be put to good use, you two. You can begin anytime you like. May I suggest you begin with some romantic foreplay to start this off. You know what I mean: long, passionate kisses with your hands exploring each other. These pictures will get more and more explicit as we go along to slowly drive Roger crazy!”

Mandy laughed at her brother, even though his suggestion was an excellent one. She said, “Joel why do I suspect this is going to turn you on as much as it turns on Dustin?”

“Mandy, my dear sister,” he replied, “I’ve admired your good looks as much as the next guy. If you weren’t my sister, I’d desperately want to fuck you as much as Dustin does!”

Again, Mandy laughed at her brother’s blunt words. (Later, this whole episode would make me seriously wonder what kind of odd brother-sister relationship Joel and Mandy had.) At the moment, though, my mind was firmly fixed on the task at hand that every boy in my school would envy: the glorious opportunity to fuck Mandy Brighton.

We followed Joel’s foreplay suggestion. It didn’t take me long to graduate from kissing Mandy—which was quite pleasurable—to moving my curious hands along her torso and fondling her famous breasts.

“Like ‘em?” she asked me unnecessarily.

“Absolutely,” I swiftly replied. “You know I’ve been wanting to do this since the sixth grade, Mandy.”

“Yes, you, plus a dozen other boys, Mr. Hooper…and the school’s janitor.” Mandy had a fairly witty sense of humor for a lifetime C-student.

I busily groped Mandy’s goodies for about three minutes. I was having plenty of adult fun, but Mandy seemed bored with it. “Let’s get undressed now, Dustin, so we can get down to business.”

I had no objections to that, but I did have one important question I had to ask Mandy. “I brought some condoms. Should I put one on?”

Both Mandy and Joel said no almost simultaneously. All three of us laughed. Joel said, “The important thing is to really drive Roger crazy. Screwing Mandy without a condom will help to do that.”

“Joel has a point,” Mandy conceded, “but I don’t like condoms. I never have. Roger never used one. I just like the feel of a raw dick going inside me.”

That comment was extremely sexy, but I then asked the next obvious question. “So I’ll need to pull out, right?”

“Yes,” Joel replied before his sister could say anything. “A picture of a huge cum shot will be the climax—no pun intended.”

I thought for a moment that Mandy was going to say something contrary, but she just said, “Yeah, I think Joel has the right idea about this.”

Joel had been busily snapping pictures while Mandy and I were kissing. His frantic photography pace greatly increased when we had shed our clothing. He got exceptionally close with his lens when I began to suck on his sister’s luscious tits. I accepted his closeness to me as a necessary evil. He got just as close to Mandy’s face when she performed fellatio on my solid dick. She was excellent at that. As a matter of trivia, she added, “Your dick is about the same size as Roger’s, but it stands a little bit taller than his when it’s hard. Good for you, Dustin.”

That was an unexpected and welcome compliment! I replied, “Thanks, Mandy! I’ll put it to good use for your pleasure. That I can guarantee!”

After a few excellent minutes of having my penis licked by a teenage sexpot, Mandy had a request. “Do me now, Dustin!” She pointed to her pussy—which bore no hair whatsoever. I suspect she regularly shaved it.

I was more than happy to oblige, even though cunnilingus would be something new to me. My sexual experience before this memorable day at the motel was rather puny. It was limited to a single encounter I’d had with the slightly chubby Iris Gamble when we were both in the sixth grade. One Tuesday in May, we agreed to meet in a vacant supply closet after the final bell to pleasure each other. She stuck her right hand inside my trousers to stimulate my penis while I slipped my hands under her bra to caress her tits. Fearing we’d likely be caught in the act if we lingered too long, we explored each other with more panic than pleasure. It was rushed and awkward. Nevertheless, I ejaculated on Iris’ hand and inside my jeans. I know I made Iris’ nipples hard, but I got nowhere near her pussy. I thanked her before running off in a hurry to the boys’ washroom to clean myself up before heading home.

Mandy happily spread her legs, and I happily dived in—face first. I hadn’t gotten two licks in before Joel had his camera inches from my cheek to get a shot of my tongue contacting his sister’s vagina. I gave it long upward licks, and then I brought my hands into play by rubbing her clit with my thumb.

“Very good, Dustin. You definitely know what you’re doing!” That was a marvelous statement from Mandy considering the opposite was true.

A few more sensuous minutes of my orally stimulating Mandy ended when she suggested, “I’m ready to be fucked by you, Dustin. You can mount me now, if you like.”

I surprised her by saying, “Not yet, Mandy. I desperately want to fuck your sexy tits first.”

“Great idea!” announced Joel. “Dustin, you and I think alike.” I guess that was praise.

Mandy was okay with the idea, but not especially enthusiastic. “I don’t understand you guys and your fixation on girls’ tits. Titty-fucking is pointless to me.”

I joked that her sexual arousal had caused her to have two pointy tits. I also offered some free, timeless philosophy: “Guys love girls’ tits because we don’t have them. We’re not fixated on girls’ eyebrows because we have them, too. Get it?”

I didn’t wait for an acknowledgement of that snippet of wisdom from my bedmate. I promptly straddled Mandy, placed my stiff rod between her breasts, and started sliding it up and down while I pushed her treasures together. It was a fabulous feeling and a fabulous visual for our photographer. “I think I could sell these photos to Penthouse!” Joel exclaimed.

I figured it was miraculous that I didn’t fire a huge load of semen at that point. Somehow, I managed to control myself long enough to finally accede to Mandy’s demand for vaginal intercourse. I moved my dick southward and placed it at the opening of her hole. I rammed it inside Mandy without any warning, causing her to moan slightly. I think her reaction was more from surprise than size. Mandy’s pussy wasn’t as tight as I suspected—and my lack of intimate experience gave me nothing to compare it with—but it was still a pleasurable temporary residing place for my rigid dick. Joel was having a heyday zooming in on my stiff manhood penetrating his darling sister. After perhaps three minutes, I felt the familiar sensation of an orgasm approaching. I pulled out just in time to fire three blasts of thick, white cum, all of which landed between the top of Mandy’s bald pussy and her neck. Basically, I had given her a coat of semen paint. It felt wonderful. Joel was thrilled by my ejaculation, too. I was really starting to wonder about him.

I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that we had been in the motel room for 14 minutes. I figured I had done well considering whom the sexy object of my affection was that afternoon. To my delight, Mandy and Joel both suggested we take a short recess and have a second round of copulation so he could shoot more pictures of us. We both showered, then got back into bed 15 minutes later. Thankfully, Joel was content to take mostly panoramic shots of Mandy and me screwing rather than the up-close-and-personal ones he favored earlier.

I was much more relaxed for our second fuck. Mandy and I experimented with various positions. I liked it when she rode me “cowgirl style.” She relished it best when we tried a side-by- side “spoons” fuck. That would have been my second choice, as I could freely fondle Mandy’s sensational set of boobs while simultaneously ramming my dick inside her. I unintentionally ejaculated in her pussy after about 20 minutes of thoroughly enjoyable fucking. It came as a surprise to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I simply became highly aroused for a few seconds while I manhandled Mandy’s nipples.

I didn’t know what to say, but Mandy did. “Don’t worry. I took the proper precaution, Dustin. I’m not as smart as you are, but I’m not foolish, either.”

When our two hours at the motel ran out, I asked Mandy if this episode was just a onetime thing or if she wanted me as a full-time boyfriend and sex provider. I was disappointed with her reply, but not entirely surprised.

“This was a one-time thing, Dustin, so I hope you enjoyed it,” she told me. “I’m sure Roger will go absolutely nutty when he sees the photographic evidence of what we’ve been doing today. However, we both know we don’t have much in common, so thanks for this, but this was a onetime thing.”

Part Four

Joel developed the pictures on Monday at his high school. On Tuesday morning, I saw Mandy in the hallway of our school. She was in possession of two manila envelopes. One had my name on it while the other had Roger’s. When Mandy saw me, she gave me mine and quietly said, “Joel made copies of the best photos for you, too. He and I both figured you’d like them as souvenirs of Saturday at the motel.” I certainly did. Joel had surely taken hundreds of photographs that afternoon, but he whittled them down to a mere 26. More than 50 years later, I still have them. I look at them occasionally to admire what a fine physical specimen Mandy Brighton was at age 14. (Even my wife agrees she was spectacularly built for her age. I’ll talk more about her in a moment.) There was an accompanying note from Mandy that said, “I really did enjoy our fucking, Dustin. You have a nice dick, and you know how to use it. Thanks again from Mandy!”

Mandy didn’t see Roger. She just stealthily slipped his envelope into his locker. The next day he angrily confronted me. “Is that you in these photos fucking my girlfriend?” he stupidly asked.

“You still have a tremendous grasp of the obvious, Roger,” I replied. “I also understand Mandy is your ex-girlfriend so you can count on plenty of other guys screwing her, too. She really was a great fuck on Saturday.”

Roger walked away angry and defeated. Mandy had gotten her revenge.

As for my wife, I eventually married Iris Gamble. Our wedding occurred in 1988 when we were both 24. About a week after I had merrily copulated with Mandy, I came to the brilliant conclusion that it wasn’t such a bad thing to have a girl who adored me, even if she was a bit chunky. It was certainly better in the long run than any loveless, lustful relationship.

About five years after we had been married, when our mealtime discussion one evening turned to the topic of former classmates, Iris mentioned Mandy as a girl whom she was jealous of because “she looked like a Playboy model in middle school.”

I agreed that she did indeed have that level of physical beauty. I coyly added, “I can say this on good authority because I had a chance to sample Mandy’s many charms one afternoon just before I started high school.”

Iris gave me a dirty look. I figured our marriage was strong enough for me to tell her about Mandy’s revenge plot. Anyway, it happened well before we were married. When Iris began to doubt my story, I dug out a certain manila envelope I had been given in 1978 and had hidden away amongst my collection of Sports Illustrated magazines from the 1970s. I proceeded to show Iris more than two dozen photos of evidence. The envelope still contained a hand-written note from Joel Brighton that said, “Photos of Dustin and Mandy taken on June 17, 1978.”

“With this evidence, you can’t possibly doubt my story now,” I stated.

“Yes,” Iris agreed. “That’s definitely you and Mandy in those photos. Those close-up shots of your dick look very familiar, too. I’d recognize it anywhere. I’ve enjoyed it for years! It gave us two children.”

Iris had a wonderful sense of humor that always made me laugh. We were both chuckling at my randy reminiscence when something suddenly struck her. Iris picked up Joel’s note and waved it in front of my nose.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Iris said, “Look at the date…June 17, 1978. We were married exactly ten years later! What a coincidence that is!”

I got in the last word. “I’m so glad I married you, Iris. There’s no doubt that Mandy was a great fuck, but now I get laid more than once every decade.”