Kendal and the Book Club

A true scholar-athlete enjoys spending time at his high school's Book Club--especially once a sexy 14-year-old takes an interest in him.

Part One

My name is Ronnie Darragh. My ancestry is Irish. In 1970 I was a high school senior in a midsize town in the geographical heartland of the United States. According to my sister Beverly, who was two years my junior, I was considered “a catch” by the girls her age. She didn’t say that to boost my ego or even as a general pleasantry. “I’m just stating facts, Ronnie,” she assured me. “I have 20 classmates who would love to date you—and perhaps do more than that with you.”

“I sincerely hope they’re all girls!” I joked. I preferred to take a light-hearted approach to sexual matters.

Beverly told me that interesting factoid out of frustration because she knew I was happily unattached with no romantic interests presently on the horizon. Beverly was a bit of a busybody who thought it was her sisterly duty to find a suitable girlfriend for me. At nearly 6’2” and athletically built, I apparently was considered good looking by the school’s females. Beverly once told me she eyed a student teacher in her early twenties giving me lustful looks as I passed by her in the hallway. It was quietly very flattering to me.

I liked to think of myself as a “renaissance man” who had a wide variety of interests. Yes, I was a good athlete—the best male badminton player in my school and a capable tight end on the football team. (I couldn’t run fast at all, but I had great hands. If a ball was thrown my way, I’d always catch it and never fumble it once I had it in my possession.) The highlight of my football career occurred in one late-season game in my junior year where I caught three touchdown passes and threw for another one on a reverse. It was the only pass I ever threw, giving me a great stat line: One passing attempt, one completion, 22 yards passing, one touchdown. I was also an honor student who enjoyed history, English and geography. I was an avid reader with non-fiction being my preference. I also had a good sense of humor, especially for puns. I was nothing close to being a stereotypical “dumb jock”.

Part Two

About halfway through my junior year in high school, one of the English teachers, a woman in her fifties named Mrs. Dunleavy, got the idea of starting an after-school club for book lovers where they could share their passion for reading and discuss and promote their favorite books of all genres. I attended the first meeting with seven other pupils, armed with half a dozen biographies on famous entertainers and historical figures. That made me unique. Everyone else arrived with novels. Mrs. Dunleavy had the eight of us each select one of our books, explain why it appealed to us, and then read what we thought was a particularly good passage. I could see a few people roll their eyes when I brought out an excellent biography of Theodore Roosevelt. I explained why he was my favorite American president. Then I read a brilliantly written, superbly detailed passage that described the cattle ranch he ran in the 1880s. When I’d finished reading aloud, the rest of the group applauded.

I was happily surprised by their positive reaction. “Hey, that’s not necessary. I didn’t write that passage; I just read it!” I reminded them. Then I added, “It is quite good, though, isn’t it? Do you all see what you’re missing by shunning non-fiction?”

Mrs. Dunleavy wisely stated, “That’s quite true, Ronnie, but the reverse applies, too. You should read more fiction for the sake of variety.” She was correct, of course, and I wrote down some titles suggested by the rest of the group. We all got along splendidly, meeting every Tuesday and Thursday after school until summer recess.

Part Three

When school started in September, Mrs. Dunleavy’s Book Club (as everyone called it) resumed its meetings the first week of classes. I didn’t attend the club regularly until the football season ended simply because the team’s daily practices conflicted with it. I sought out Mrs. Dunleavy to apologize for my absence. She understood. I sincerely told her I hoped there were enough students who were attending the club to keep it afloat until I could start regularly going to its meetings again.

The football team had a mediocre season. We did not qualify for the playoffs, so I resumed attending the Book Club slightly earlier than I anticipated. On my first afternoon back, I was pleased to see that its membership had grown to about a dozen regulars, half of whom I had never seen before. Mrs. Dunleavy opened the meeting by noting to everyone, “I want to welcome back to the Book Club, Ronnie Darragh.” I gave a small wave to everyone. “Ronnie is our school’s football team’s famous tight end. He’s also a non-fiction lover of great repute.”

“My interests do not necessarily appear in that order,” I joked. “That’s especially true now that my high school football career is abruptly over.”

About two seconds later I noticed an attendee I hadn’t seen before. She was a young beauty whose name I quickly learned was Kendal O’Reilly. A lovely Irish gal was she! Kendal was young, pretty, and smart. She was also a bit on the busty side—a trait which didn’t hurt her appeal to me one iota. I also found out Kendal was a freshman, so that explained why she was a new face at the club to me.

I didn’t care about our age difference at all. I made a point of seeking out Kendal when the meeting ended. I told her I was going to look for a copy of the novel she had suggested. She just handed her copy to me and said there was no rush to return it to her. She then asked, “Ronnie, which book of yours would you most recommend to me? I know they’re all non-fiction books, but I’m willing to expand my horizons.”

I had brought along five tomes to the meeting. I handed her a biography of Clara Bow.

“Who the heck is Clara Bow?” she queried.

“Clara Bow was one of the most popular silent movie actresses of all time,” I informed her. “She still holds the world record for most fan mail received in a month. That was back in 1927, I believe.” I wasn’t sure if Kendal liked my book suggestion or not. I paused for a moment and said, “You and Clara both have something in common. As a teen, Clara entered a beauty contest for a lark—and was shocked when she won it. You both don’t realize how pretty you are.”

Kendal gave me an odd look and then flashed a toothy smile. She replied, “I don’t know who you are, Ronnie, because I don’t care a whit about football, but that remark just won me over. I promise I’ll read the book about Clara Bow.”

Two days later, Kendal returned to the club holding the book I’d leant to her. I figured she had given up on it because it was nearly 400 pages long. I was shocked to learn that she had already finished it. She wasn’t fibbing, either. She discussed her favorite parts and said that Clara Bow was certainly a tragic figure in Hollywood history.” Wow! I was impressed!

I confessed to Kendal that I was only about 50 pages into the novel she had loaned to me, but I was diligently pressing forward with it. I told her if she was now interested in the history of the silent screen, she could read some excellent biographies on Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd—all of which I could lend her.

Kendal said she was interested indeed, and that I could choose the next biography for her to peruse. Then she handed me another book of hers in advance. “Have you read this?” she asked me.
It was a copy of Lolita, the famous and controversial Vladimir Nabokov novel about a man who falls in love and has an ongoing sexual relationship with a 12-year-old girl. There were still some places in the USA where this book was banned outright.

By chance, Mrs. Dunleavy was passing by the two of us when she saw the title of the book that Kendal had quietly handed to me. I figured we might get into trouble over it. I was wrong about that.

“I’d bet a million dollars you didn’t get that from the school library,” Mrs. Dunleavy stated. “There’s no way that book is available for students to borrow.” She was actually chuckling at Kendal and me.

“I understand it’s hot stuff,” I said. “I’ve never even held a copy of it before until Kendal suggested I read hers. Are we in trouble for even having it in our possession at this school?”

“Well,” Mrs. Dunleavy said before taking a long pause to formulate her thoughts. “This is a book club. As such, I encourage students to read voraciously on all subjects. I don’t, won’t, and can’t dictate what books they read. Having said that, you might find other staff members at this school who aren’t nearly as open-minded as I am about such things, so I advise both of you not to wave it about for everyone to see.” That was the last time Mrs. Dunleavy even acknowledged that book had been passed from one member to another at her club.

Once Mrs. Dunleavy was beyond earshot of the conversation Kendal and I were having, I told her honestly, “Thanks, Kendal. I’ll read this book for sure.” Then I asked her facetiously, “Are you trying to corrupt my morals.”

“Absolutely, Ronnie!” she replied. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

I couldn’t tell if Kendal was being serious or not.

Part Four

I got a better idea what was going through Kendal’s mind based on the numerous books she continued to suggest to me or actually leant to me from her personal collection. She gave me a couple of Mickey Spillane novels—which were famous detective stories that featured plenty of sex and violence. (During the 1950s, they sold by the millions in paperback.) Another novel I got from Kendal was John Fowles’ The French Lieutenant’s Woman. It had been published fairly recently (in 1969), and had quickly gotten the reputation for being both a sexy and scholarly read. I was now certain that Kendal was trying to arouse my libido by the types of books she was suggesting. The little schemer was succeeding, too!

One Thursday afternoon, Kendal and I were the last two Book Club members to leave the meeting. Even Mrs. Dunleavy beat us out the door, which was highly unusual. With no one else present, I figured it was a good time to be direct with Kendal. I placed my hands gently on her shoulders and said to her, “All the books you direct me to, Kendal, seem to have a lot of sex in them. Is that by design?”

“I thought all teenage boys liked sex, so I figured, as an avid reader, you’d love reading stories with sexual plots. Isn’t that so?” Kendal asked me in return.

“Oh, I most definitely like them, Kendal. They’ve all been great—surprisingly good for being works of fiction,” I told her sincerely. “They’ve been giving me ideas, too.”

“They have?” Kendal asked with a look of clear desire etched on her face.

“Yes, they have,” I reiterated. “I have a naughty idea, Kendal. My idea is to have sex with the prettiest girl in our high school who is also one of the smartest. I think you know this particular girl. Her name is Kendal O’Reilly. I’d absolutely love to have a wonderful and romantic romp with her, anytime and anyplace.”

Kendal immediately embraced me and gave me a passionate kiss.

“I’ll take that kiss as a definite yes,” I said. “When and where do you want to do this, my dear?”

“How about right here and right now?” Kendal suggested. “We’re all alone. The janitor won’t be on this floor for at least an hour, so I doubt anyone will disturb us. We can have a very nice fuck together.” Indeed, Mrs. Dunleavy’s classroom was located on the third floor of the high school. Like Kendal, I knew from observation that the school’s janitor typically worked his way from the main floor upward. I don’t know why I knew that, but having that tidbit of knowledge was helpful that day.

There was still the matter of finding an adequate place in the classroom for us to screw. The 30 or so desks were totally out of consideration. The tile floor was rock hard. If I was going to have sex with beautiful Kendal, I wanted to at least be comfortable during intercourse.

“Ronnie, I think I have the solution!” Kendal announced happily. She opened up a storage closet in the back of the classroom and pulled out something that looked like a gymnastics mat. It was thick, soft and reasonably spacious. It absolutely would be an improvement over a hard tile floor!

“I have no idea why this is in Mrs. Dunleavy’s storage closet,” Kendal noted. “It has absolutely nothing to do with English. Be that as it may, I think it will be just lovely for us to be intimate on it, Ronnie! Don’t you think so, too?”

I agreed wholeheartedly. We moved three or four desks together to make room for the mat. I made a point of locking the classroom door and then I rushed to embrace this beautiful, sexually aggressive girl. She was already sitting on the mat eagerly awaiting me. Kendal impatiently waved at me to join her. I couldn’t help but be amused at her extreme eagerness.

“How did you even know this mat was in the closet?” I asked Kendal.

“Mrs. Dunleavy is my English teacher,” she said. “One afternoon she asked me to get something from the closet—I think it was a tape recorder. I saw that mat in the corner of the closet and thought about how It might come in handy someday.” Kendal possessed the same sort of foresight that I did!

We quickly began to disrobe. More specifically, Kendal began to disrobe me. She lifted my shirt off my torso and began to unbuckle my belt. I had no objection to her assertiveness whatsoever. (I did help things along by removing my shoes and socks myself. When I was sitting on the mat in only my briefs, sporting an obvious erection, I stopped and began to undress Kendal. I figured that was only fair!) Kendal was clad in a long-sleeved, dark-blue top which I quickly lifted over her head to expose her brassiere. For someone who has just turned 14 a week earlier, she was a well-built gal! I suspect Kendal dressed as she did to try to disguise that fact, which was plainly impossible. She was wearing slacks, which she discarded herself along with her tennis shoes and red socks. We just stared at each other’s underwear for a moment or two. Kendal started to giggle. I laughed too, and then I reached around her to unclasp her bra. I succeeded. Her breasts bounced sexily in front of me before settling to a stop.

“Nice rack, Kendal!” I said, stating the obvious. “You have beautiful breasts! I just love them!”

“Thanks, Ronnie,” Kendal said, almost embarrassed by her assets. “I’ve been busty since the age of 11. My boobs just keep on growing. My mother says she was the same when she was a girl.”

“That means your father is a lucky fellow!” I said seconds before I wrapped my arms around Kendal and gently lowered her back to the mat. I was determined to be exceedingly gentle with her, but I still planned on having plenty of fun! I slid my briefs off, lifting them over my erection, and tossing them near Kendal’s discarded brassiere. Kendal still had her panties on—for now.

“This is a first for me, Ronnie," Kendal explained in a soft voice. "I hope I please you."

I chuckled and said, "Kendal, my love, it would be almost impossible for you not to please me."

I slid her panties down her legs. She had a vagina that was bushier than I imagined, but I was fine with that. I placed my face between her thighs and gave her pussy a thorough licking. Kendal squirmed more than just a bit from the pleasant sensation, but she clearly loved what I was doing to her. I boldly put my right index finger into her love hole and slowly began to thrust it in and out of her. Her pleasure seemed to intensify—especially when I began to spin the finger around inside her. All that time, I never stopped licking her private area. I decided to inject some levity into our lovemaking. I said to her, "It's almost as satisfying as reading a good book! Am I right Kendal?"

Kendal did not respond. She just giggled and continued to squirm on the mat. I took that as a definite sign that I was doing well.

I could resist Kendal's fine breasts no longer. I snuggled up beside her and behind her, in a side-by-side position. I wrapped my arms around her and placed the palms of my hands firmly on her prominent tits. My, they were lovely sexual objects! They were firm but pliable. Her nipples were especially excellent to fondle. I could feel them become progressively harder as I massaged them with my thumbs. "Kendal, I could do this for hours and hours and never get bored," I told her just before I began to kiss the nape of her neck. I also began to rub my penis between the cheeks of her bum. That was a fun activity, too! After about five minutes of heavy groping, I finally succumbed to temptation. I returned sexy Kendal to a position on her back so I could suck on her beautiful tits. They were having a great effect on me. I felt my dick get as stiff as it had ever been in my entire life. "This is paradise!" I muttered.

I had no idea when the janitor might arrive to tend to Mrs. Devaney's classroom, so I felt somewhat pressured to take care of business. Therefore, I reluctantly disengaged my mouth from Kandal's beautiful boobs and moved my body downward so my throbbing penis was at the entrance to her vagina. I rubbed my dick slowly against it. Her opening was still moist from the earlier stimulation I had given it. Kendal started giggling again. I'm not entirely sure why. I think she was amused by the methodical way I handled my manhood. I proceeded as planned. I placed the tip of my penis just inside her pussy—and then pulled it out after a few seconds. I rubbed it against her opening again, and then I slid it inside her slightly further than I had the previous time.

Despite her busty figure, Kendal was a relatively slender girl. I was at least sexually endowed as well as a typical 18-year-old male, so I knew I might hurt her If I got too aggressive with my screwing. I warned her that I was going to go for full penetration. Kendal braced herself for the inevitable—and I slowly forced myself inside her, millimeter by millimeter. The pleasure was absolutely intense for me. Kendal gasped and then seemed to enjoy her first fuck. If she was enjoying it half as much as I was, she was having a fantastic time.

"Jeez, it feels so good to be inside you, Kendal! I love riding you!" I think Kendal began to say something, but I didn’t hear it. I felt a rumbling in my groin and pulled out of Kendal just before the semen explosion. I came strongly on Kendal’s flat stomach. After four strong blasts, her navel became a pool of jism.

“I thought you were going to come inside me, Ronnie?” Kendal stated. By the way she worded that sentence, it sounded like she was disappointed that I had not done that.

“Kendal, I figured you’d want to avoid pregnancy,” I told her between deep breaths. I was still panting from the effort I expended to ejaculate.

“Well, maybe,” was her surprising reply. “My father would have been all for it, I think.”

“What?” I said with incredulity. “You have to be kidding me, Kendal.”

“No, he likes you as a football player,” Kendal explained. “He was on the team when he was your age. He was a fullback. He still attends all the games. A few months ago, when I told Dad that you were a member of Mrs. Devaney’s Book Club, he told me that you were a “great catch”. He stated that I should do everything in my power to land you—including having sex with you regardless of the consequences. Dad really likes football.”

No words came to me. I was dumbfounded for a minute or two—but at least I had something to tell my sister when I got home.