The Essay

I reread the essay for what felt like the thousandth time, still not believing my eyes. It had been turned in with the others from my fourth period tenth grade English class, but without a name. The title, “Learning to Deepthroat,” had led me to believe, at least initially, that it was some kind of tasteless joke.

The assignment, the first major essay of the school year, was to write a narrative essay about a first-time experience. Given the age of my students, most of whom were from just fifteen to almost sixteen, I frequently received essays on learning to drive a car, staying at home by themselves, cooking a meal, or other kind of age-appropriate topics. But in my eight years of teaching, I had not received a sexually themed narrative essay before.

My eyes flicked to the pile of essays, half of which I had already graded. I wondered if I could discover the author by process of elimination. Whoever had been present but not turned in an essay would likely be the writer. So, I did my best to put the explicit narrative–one in which a neighbor takes pictures of a girl sunbathing topless, then blackmails her into giving head before finally forcing her to deepthroat–out of my mind. With some effort, I succeeded.

Once all the essays were graded, I recorded the grades. However, I was left frustrated. None of the students present that day had failed to turn in an essay, and the only two absences were boys. And yet, the essay had been in the pile from my fourth period class, and I knew it could not have come from anywhere else. Then my mistake hit me. I had set the deepthroat essay aside without noting which essays came before and after it.

Staring at the stack of papers, I attempted to remember which essay I had graded immediately after the deepthroat one. It had been about cooking a thanksgiving meal for the first time after her mom passed away, or at least I thought it had. I searched for the essay, finding it eighth from the top, which seemed about right. Skimming it, I confirmed it was the one I recalled. And it was written by a girl – Emily Breckenridge. I set it aside next to the one without a name, then looked at the essay that had been seventh from the top. It was by a boy named Craig and was, of course, about the first time his dad took him driving. I put it back on the pile and turned my attention back to Emily’s essay, picturing the girl in my mind.

Like all girls that age, or at least most of them, she possessed the attractiveness of youth. Whether that would last into adulthood was difficult to tell. She was cute, not pretty, which a small, turned up nose; full lips, with the top one forming a high arch so that her lips were usually parted when her face was at rest, showing large front teeth and a bit of an overbite; a soft, round face except for a pointed chin; and large blue eyes. Her shoulder length hair could be charitably called light brown, or uncharitably labeled as mousy. To complete the look, she often sported thick glasses over her large, blue eyes.

Her body, however, was a thing of dream and fantasy, at least for me. Standing about 5’2”, she was on the shorter side. But while clearly fit and possessing a narrow waist and flat stomach, I doubt anyone would have ever called her thin. A prominent bust, medium to large for her age, stood proudly from her chest, defying gravity on a daily basis. And her hips were gloriously curved, flowing from her narrow waist to create that perfect hourglass shape that defined bombshell in the 1950s. Her derriere, rounded and full and bouncy, was a joy to watch from behind, her cheeks jiggling as she walked the halls. Or put another way, from the neck down she was perfect, at least in my estimation. And while her facial features alone would not have attracted my attention, they were not at all off-putting. She was a cute girl, bordering on plain, who had a killer body. And it was possible that she had also turned in an essay about being forced to learn to deepthroat.

But why would she have done such a thing, I asked myself. For that matter, if she had not been the writer, why would any of the girls in class have done so. Without a name, it would not receive a grade. And whoever had turned it in, she must not have thought I could figure out her identity. And If that were true, why turn it in at all.

“Maybe it’s a cry for help,” I said aloud, staring at the essay in question. But it did not feel like that. The writer seemed almost proud about finally being able to swallow all of her neighbor’s penis, and she also mentioned how she had made herself orgasm later thinking about the experience.

I picked up the essay, reading it again.

+++++++

The Essay:

Learning to Deepthroat

Last year, the summer between High School and Junior High, an encounter with my neighbor taught me that I was able to exceed my own perceived limitations. With a combination of forcefulness and encouragement, he made me go beyond anything I had done before, accepting that I could give more than I ever thought. And while I resisted his efforts at first, when it was over the sense of accomplishment filled me and let me find a powerful release. That’s why I’ll never forget the day my neighbor forced me to deepthroat his cock.

It all started with me sunbathing topless in my backyard. It was a bright, hot sunny day. I’d already sunned my back with my bikini top untied to keep from having a tan line where the string was, and given that I thought no one was around, I decided to do the same for my tits. They were smaller then than now, but still full for a girl my age, and I was very proud of them, Especially since they were bigger than all my friends. So there I was, sitting in the sun, my lotioned up boobs soaking up the rays, when I heard a voice calling my name.

I covered my boobs with one arm, using the other to shade my eyes so I could see who was standing on the other side of the fence, peering over and watching me, I saw my neighbor, his piggy little eyes fixed on me and a phone in one hand. My first thought was that he was a gross creeper, especially since he’s older than my parents. Then the phone in his hand sunk in, and I felt a sinking feeling in my tummy. I asked what the fuck he thought he was doing, and he smirked. “I got pics of you with your tits hanging out, girly,” he said, “And I’ll email them to your parents and your school and everyone you know.