What I Wrote


Please email me if you enjoyed this story. Please give me your ideas. Your comments are the reason I write, and your ideas create these stories. Thanks.


My name is Amy Kitson. I started my 12th grade year after one of my best summers ever. God what a summer! Ever. Ever. Ever. It all started when I turned 18 really, but I'm getting ahead of myself and it really isn't a part of this story at all. First: about me.

I already wrote my name is Amy Kitson. I am 5'3" tall and I think I am still growing, but my mom, who is a radiologist, says my growth points in my bones have all ‘closed.' Anyways, I have blonde hair and I like to cut it in a curve at the middle of my back, it is really fine hair and it sort of just curves around my face. I look like a little lion, that can smile. I have big eyes, wide smile, little teeth and sort of a little girl voice. I look younger for my age, and since about fifteen I have sort of had to dress a little more conservative cause I look, well, nice; and while I am not afraid of my physical, it interferes with me being just a normal girl. Plus, our school has a dress code. Besides, I want boys who will talk to me because of me, and not be all tongue tied and always saying how pretty I am. But, anyways.....

So it was English class and I settled into my desk, same one as last year. And Mr. Tendale is writing his name on the board, MR DAN TENDALE and underlining his name. He is supposed to be a nice teacher. It's a normal class, honors English, I always do well - like my best subject - and he gives us our syllabus, tells us what he expects of us. First days are boring like that. His assignment: Write Your Most Memorable Thing You Did This Last Summer. He wrote those words across the board right under his name.

I leaned back in my seat, my heart began to race, I blushed. Looked over at Nicole, she was thinking the same thing. Looked over at me, we giggled.


"So what are you going to write?" Nicole is walking next to me, we are both carrying our backpacks, loaded with junk. Finding our lockers. I think we are best friends because her last name is Kerrell. Kitson - Kerrell. Her locker is to MY left.

"Don't know."

She's laughing, clapping her hands together. "Should we......"

I look at her, blushing again. "........I just couldn't!!" she continues.

"I mean, it WAS the most memorable thing. Oh gawd....." She was rambling on, little squeals, and I slammed my locker, ready for next class. They give you eight minutes.

I turned to her, took a breath, "I'm going to write it....."

"Aaaaaa," she squealed again, falling against me, tossing her dark hair in with my blonde. "No Way!"

I started walking. "Why not. It'll be hilarious. I want to see......"

"You just CAN'T!!"

"........the look on his face."


What I wrote. I wrote it. I can't believe it, but I went home that night sat in my room and typed it out - tap - tap - tap. It was easy, I remember everything, like it was yesterday. Every moment, every thought flooding my brain. And when I was through I laid out on my bed, and lifted up my knees and slipped my fingers under my Hello Kitty panties and felt the soft hairs there, then slipping my fingers down lower, completely soaking wet, warm, all squishy, soft.

God I loved how I felt as I pressed my fingers, all slick and slippery wet, up inside myself; closed my eyes, opened my mouth. Careful so my long pointy red painted nails wouldn't scratch me. Just working my fingers in a little ways - oh I loved it like that - this little quarter inch. Right at the opening. So sensitive there. Holding my legs open, letting my knees drop open, my skirt curving around my wrist, and wriggling my finger - back and forth back and forth - and up a little pulling myself open, and finding it. My clit. Touching this soft white pearl under my index finger, so sensitive, its white tip dancing around in circles. Just rocking my hips, drawing circles around my finger with my whole body, moving my clit soft, then harder, sort of itching it just right - the way I do, breathing and rocking my hips. Licking my lips, closing my eyes, and holding my breath. Holding it. Holding it. Holding it. Remembering........

Until....... Woooosh, it came, and I start shaking my hips, arching my back, turning to my side, lengthening my legs and pressing my thighs together around my hand. Holding my finger up deep inside myself. Moaning, "Oh God!" Cumming, feeling my pussy clenching, quivering on my finger, this open mouth, its wetness squishing out of me, dribbling down onto my legs, staining the sheet. Sooooo good.

I wrote my most memorable experience this summer. Mine and Nicole's. (But she told me not to use her name, so I used her middle name Shannon.) Which was......

‘We let five guys fuck us both together, at one time, at a party'


Just one month ago.

Lets see what happens.......


Today was the day we were to get our first paper back. I didn't show it to Nicole, but promised her her name was not in it. It wasn't important really what I wrote (I put it at the end, after this story - you shouldn't even read it - EVER. But at least wait. It was no big deal. It's not part of THIS story).

I sat in my seat. Nicole was watching me, completely staring. Then when Mr. Tendale came in, I felt my heart start to pound. I could barely concentrate. I don't know why I was nervous, but I was. I knew he read it. That was part of it. I wore the same outfit I wore to that party. I don't know why. Maybe I didn't even think about it, realize. Nicole reminded me as we walked in. When Mr. Tendale looked at me, I just looked at my notebooks, let my hair fall over my eyes, like I didn't notice. God I was nervous.

He started to hand out the papers at beginning of class the way he does, in order of the rows. Each paper fluttering down on each desk, with a red letter grade in the top right corner. This one was easy, an easy A, most everyone would get an A today. Then he was behind me, right beside me - NO PAPER. He continued, did not look at me. Next desk. I looked back at Nicole. She had her paper on her desk. She had this serious look - like, 'I don't know.'

Then he went to his desk and sat down. Didn't say anything for a little while. I was the only one without a paper, people were looking at me.

I was afraid to raise my hand, and my heart in my throat. Big Mistake. There was a pause, and he opened his book that he lectures from. And then he looked up - at me, FINALLY.

"Ms. Kitson."

I started. My mouth went dry.

"Would you come up here please."

I rose from my desk and walked up there, felt like my knees would give out. Like me feet were these big plates. I must of been blushing, but I was nonchalant. Cool.

I stood at his desk. A long pause, I could see my paper, no grade in the upper right corner. He said in a low voice, "Is this yours?"

I looked at it, the typed letters. My name at the bottom. Sitting inside with his notes. I looked at it, the top heading, and then not at him.

I nodded. Could feel my face glowing, beet red.

"Ok then. I'd like to see you after class."


"What did he say?" We were in lunch now. He talked to me for ten minutes and made me late for my next class, wrote me a pass. Nicole was leaning by me, trying to talk while eating. She was soooo animated. Pure nervous energy - she was like that. I was pissed. We have twenty minutes to eat lunch.

"First, he asked me if I wrote what I did. Like TWICE. Then.....he asked me why. Why did I write what I wrote." I took a bite of my sandwich and pushed my hair out of my face. "He told me, that I couldn't write things like that. I said, why not. He said because it is not right, in fact its wrong. He said I probably did not even do what I said that I did. That it was just made up anyway. I didn't say anything. It's like I was NOT going to argue that yes I did, Yes I did do these things I wrote. But.....THEN he said I have to write another essay. That he wouldn't accept this one."

Nicole was looking at me, chewing. Drinking in my every word. Wide eyes, amazement. I was so pissed.

I continued looking at Nicole, "I paused awhile, not answering, and then I like looked at him and he seemed very edgy just then. I looked in his eyes for the first time and saw HIM Look away."

"He looked away?"

"And I said what if I didn't. I mean, write another story. He said then you would get an F. I said, an F, that is like totally not fair. It should be a C. He said I didn't do the assignment. I said I most certainly did. I said it was just stupid, and just a story. To just move on. He held his hand to his head, weird. Like this." And I motioned, his wrist was sort of limp, like he had a headache. "He said, Ms. Kitson. I just want you to write a different paper. That's all. Can you do that. We can't have this.....it will be like it never happened. I said, it was what I wrote, and I thought it was just what I wanted to write - and it was memorable - Ha! - and I would take the F."

Nicole was mesmerized. "No. Kit!! Just write another one."

"I said that an F would be fine, that then I would still have an A- in the class. He said no I wouldn't. That every week I did not rewrite this paper, he would mark me down and that I would never even get a C. I said that is TOTALLY unfair. He said I had written pornography. I said there is freedom of the press, I have rights. He said not in school you don't. He said he didn't want to discuss it further, AND that I have detention after school from 2:30 to 3:30. I have to be in his room."

"Detention! Kit, you can't be serious."

"He's going to write my parents a note and tell them I did not do my assignment. It sucks. I told him I did. He said, well then you are going to have to show them what you wrote to PROVE it aren't you. Then he cut me off, said this conversation is over, wrote me a pass....."

I rose from the table, not feeling very hungry or very full. I was still shaking. Not sure what I was doing.

"What are you going to do?"

"Go to detention, I guess."


It was 2:30 and I went into the classroom. It was empty, no one in the halls. I sat in the back of the room - something I never do. But then I never have had detention either - EVER. He looked up, "Sit in the front Ms. Kitson."

I slumped in my chair, got up and walked to the front.

After I settled into my seat, I just sort of looked off to the side. "Have you thought about what we talked about?"

I didn't answer. He looked up from his desk, "Have you, Ms. Kitson."

"Call me Amy."

"Ms. Kitson?"



I didn't answer.


I didn't answer. I flicked my hair out of my eyes.

"Well, we have an hour don't we. Why not spend it rewriting that story, I threw the other one away." I glared at him when he said he threw it away. Silent. I took my notebook out and opened it, then just closed it. Looked at him with my mean face.

He was writing something when he said, "It was trash."

I said, under my breath, "It wasn't trash."

And he popped his head up, leaned forward, "Excuse me!"

I jumped, he was getting a little menacing. My heart beating, I didn't know where to put my hands.

"What did you say."

"It wasn't trash," I said quietly.

"Get up on that board. Go over there!" Pointing at the chalkboard. He was mean. I had never seen him like this. I got up walked to the board. "Now write."

I held a piece of chalk, twirling it in my fingers.

"Now write - TRASH."

I lifted my hand, my hand was trembling. I held the chalk to the board. I wrote T. I wrote R. I paused. I wrote E. I wrote A. I wrote S.

"Ms. Kitson, you are mis......"

I continued U-R-E. I was crying. TREASURE. Why was he like this? I hated him. It was like nothing I ever felt. It was just dumb, all innocent. It was simple. It was stupid. It WASN'T trash. It was MY memory. I thought about it every day.

I stood at the board. He held his hand to his head again. "Ms. Kitson. Ms. Kitson."

And then he took my arm, stood behind me, strong, hard. Held onto my hand, and forced me, holding me and pushing my arm. I tried to pull away. He held my hand, and made me spell - T R A S H. I felt his other hand at my waist, felt his fingers touching the bare skin of my back, curl into my hip, right through the space between my top and my skirt.

When he was done he let go and said, "Go stand over there, just face away from me, I don't even want to see you." I was wiping my eyes, weepy, sniffing and moved away.

"You think your being all high and mighty. You know what, you aren't. You think you can just write what you wrote, just get away with it. Play your little games. Is that how you plan to get through life. You know what your going to become? A little slut."

It was terrible the way he said that. I looked back at him when he said that.

He barked, "Turn around. That's right!! A slut. You want to be a slut. A fucking whore. Letting five boys fuck you. You think that was funny? You think that was memorable. Memorable!!!"


He had risen from his desk as he said all these horrible things to me. I could hear the clicking of his shoes. Now, he was standing behind me. Close. I could feel his breath. And then his fingers in my hair. Just his hand at the top of my head. I could feel his hand trembling. He was just following the trail of my fine blonde hairs. From the top of my head, lightly lightly, down to where they ended right at the middle of my back. I was afraid to move. I said nothing.

Silence, his soft caresses. This pressure at my shoulders, the light touch of fingers on my hair, letting his fingers comb through my hair. The way he folded his hand in half and held my hair at the edge so his thumb was on one side and his fingers on the other, drawing his hand down the whole length of my long hair. I could feel my tummy grow warm. Soft. So soft. Gentle, and after he had said all those horrible things. I wanted to squeeze my thighs together. I stood, facing the wall.

And then his hand fell away from me.

"It's 3:30." He had turned away, and after a beat I began walking, he was sitting again, "Think about what I said.....be careful. It's not how you think. It's ....just...not. Just consider, for me, just write another memory. Any memory. Any other memory. It doesn't have to be ...... your best. Just another one. I'll ADD it to the one you wrote. That one can be just, between you and me. No one knows you wrote it right??"

I nodded (a white lie).

"So you will write another assignment for me?"

I looked at him, another silence. And then I just said, "No."

"Then next Friday. It's detention again, for you. You can go......." He handed me my note, "For your parents."

I looked at his face, he was exhausted. His eyes were sad. He was red, he had beads of sweat on his forehead. He averted his eyes again. His voice was more sensitive, resigned, almost reverent.

I took it out of his hand. "Thank you."

I left.


My stomach was in knots, I had felt totally sick all day. It was Friday. I couldn't concentrate, and when I was in his class all week long it was like nothing happened. He was nice, smiling, but the Friday detention stood. All he did was once ask me if I had changed my mind.

I was in Science Class and it felt like I was in there all day. It felt like forever. I watched the second hand going round and round in circles. One minute at a time. And then.....the Bell.

What did I feel? I didn't even know. I was scared of this, of him; but I was excited. My heart was racing away. I was afraid/excited all at once.


"Hi Amy. Take a seat."

I took my seat at the front desk, where I had sat before. He simply wrote in his book, turning pages over one by one. I sat there. He didn't talk, didn't say anything. A half hour went by. This was nothing like before, like last time. I sat there, my hand curled around my notebook. The one he told me to bring. My pen lay at the top of the desk in its little indent.

He looked up, "You write anything?"

"Uh Uh." I shook my head.

"Ok.......Go on, go stand in that corner over there for awhile."

I went over and stood there. I stood there for the other half of the hour. Silence. He was still working on his stuff. I could hear the papers shuffling. I was nervous, but nothing was going on. It was boring.

I turned and looked at the clock, 3:30. He wasn't moving, I waited, looked again: 3.35. "Uh Mr. Tenday....."

He looked up, turning to me.

I said, "Times up."

"Your not going home yet."

I turned back to the wall, totally confused now. I kept looking at the wall and said sort of low, "Detention is s'posed to be one hour. My parents.....are waiting. I get a ride home." I didn't know what to do.

I heard him rise from his chair, could hear his footsteps. The building was quiet, empty.

He was standing behind me. I could hear him breathing, silent. He just stood there.

I was trembling. Would he put his hand on my head again, run his fingers through my hair, like before. I closed my eyes.

"You think you can do anything you want, and get away with it. Is that it? That if you follow ‘rules,' - 'Detention is One Hour' (he was mimicing my voice) - just be this pretty little thing, that ...... everyone gives you this wide berth......" ......"Is that it, just be all cute. And you get whatever you want. But, you know what Ms. Kitson, Amy, the truth is - rules are a tool......a tool for the rule makers AND the rule breakers. You're breaking the rules right now."

I was totally confused, had no idea what he was talking about. I just stood there, my heart patting away. I simply whimpered, "I have to go."

"Your outfit, I could write you up for that outfit. I should. You are always breaking the dress code rules aren't you Amy?"

His hand was on my shoulder now. I just stood there. "No."

And I felt it, his hand pressing into me, his thumb pressing into my shoulder, curling his fingers around the top of my shoulder. Holding on to me, pressing his hand to the back of my neck and running it down my back, stopping right at the small of my back, moving slow. So slow, running over the cashmere sweater I had on. And then sliding, pressing his fingers right to the bottom, to the edge of my sweater and running his finger along my bare skin in that little space, this little line right at the edge, right between my skirt and sweater, all the way around.

We aren't allowed to have mid riffs showing. That's a rule, and technically I don't; but you are supposed to wear your tops so they tuck in, or overlap, and I don't quite do that. No one does. We have our tops so they fall right at the line of our pants or skirts or whatever. It's close enough. Is that what he means??

I was really scared now, shaking. I had tears in my eyes again. My parents were waiting for me. I was breaking their rules too. I was in detention. I was just becoming overwhelmed. So confused.

"I'm following the rules, same as everyone." My voice was cracking. I couldn't stand this.

His hand was still running along my bare back, right at the small of my back, following the line of my skirt. And then I felt.....he was reaching lower, I felt him lifting the hem of my skirt, raising it up from behind. Exposing me. I twisted myself quick, instinctively, brought my hands back and knocked the hem out of his hands, felt it waft back down around my legs.

I protested, "You can't do that."

"Hold still," menace in his voice. "I bet you don't follow the rules on what to wear under your outfits either. Do you Ms. Kitson?"

And I felt his hand again, grasping the hem of my skirt and again lifting it up, totally exposing my ass. I had on a pair of thongs, my ass looked bare, naked, completely bare when he was looking. I knew it was. He was looking right at me. The line of fabric from my underwear ran up in a line between my ass cheeks. You couldn't see it. No one followed that rule. Technically, the rule was that you couldn't wear thong underwear that could be SEEN from outside your clothes. As in, thong underwear AND low rise jeans. But under my skirt. NO ONE followed this rule.

Report Story

byyoubadboy© 53 comments/ 401421 views/ 123 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

4 Pages:123

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: