The Essay Contest

The Essay Contest

When I attended high school in E-------, New Jersey, many years ago, I was pretty much a poor student as the result of my being a "troublemaker." Initially, I had no desire to go to college and would not have been able to do so had it not been for one thing.

The Senior Essay Contest.

This was a really big deal in the school. A half dozen of the service clubs in town, such as the Rotary and Kiwanis, had gotten together and contributed a total of $3,000—which was a lot of money at that time—to the winner of the annual Senior Essay Contest.

There were to be eight finalists, and they all would get to read their essays—no more than five minutes each—before an assembly, at which the judges would pick a winner.

Despite being the biggest troublemaker in the school, I had a flair for writing and won the contest with an essay called, "The Recycled Generation." With the combination of the prize money, my glib tongue, and the essay as credentials, I was able to enter a prestigious small New England college on a scholarship.

The upshot of all this boring information is that it appeared I had talent as a writer, and within twenty years of high school graduation, I was making a lot of money as the result of a detective novel series about "Sherri Holmes." Sherri was a beautiful young woman who used the methods of her namesake, Sherlock Holmes, to solve modern day crimes.

I was not married and lived in a lovely penthouse apartment in New York City. I guess it should not have been a surprise to me that someone from the alumni association of our old high school contacted me through my publisher and asked if I would be the sole judge at that year's Senior Essay Contest. The subject was to be, "Why I Am an American", a boring subject if I ever heard one. But now the prize was up to $5,000, a sizeable sum.

How could I say no? So I didn't.

They alumni association arranged for my accommodation at the Marriott Inn in town, and I arrived to a luncheon in my honor, made a short speech, and later retired to the Marriott with a nice gift bottle of Bordeaux to watch whatever was on TV. The reading of the essays was to be at the school assembly the next day.

I was at the point of being totally bored with what was on TV and thinking about going to bed even though it was only nine o'clock when there was a knock on the door. Who could that be?

I walked over and opened it. In front of me was the most beautiful little blonde, about five-foot-four, with lovely blue eyes. She looked strangely familiar, but I didn't know why. She was carrying a covered dish of something and what appeared to be a small blue gym bag.

"Hi!" she said," My name is Bree Taylor. You don't know me, but you knew my mom, Janet Baker?"

I laughed. "Of course I knew your mom. We...dated when we were in high school here. No wonder you looked familiar. You look so much like her."

"That's what everyone says. But according to her, you did a lot more than date," she said. "According to her, you both were hot and heavy."

"I guess you could say that," I said, "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes." I opened the door, and she entered. "She sent this plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies over for you," she said, handing me the plate.

"Why thank you. But why didn't she come herself?"

"Well, she said she would rather you remember her as she was. She's gained a little weight."

"But still beautiful, I imagine. As is her daughter. You look so much like her."

"Everyone says that. And my mom said to tell you she's sorry now she didn't marry you instead of the loser who left us—since you've become so rich and famous."

"Yeah, I guess that would have happened if I had not moved so far away to go to college. Such is life. You never know what's going to happen."

"She did get married, but they got divorced."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"At any rate, I'm in the essay contest tomorrow, and my mom suggested I come over and give you a preview of my essay."

"Well, since there are seven other people competing, I think that would be a little unethical," I said. "Obviously, I can't play favorites, even though I did like your mom."

"We know that, but could you at least let me read my essay to you? It will only take five minutes."

"I guess I can do that. But I can't promised any special treatment."

"We know that. Can I use your bathroom? There's a costume that goes with it."

"Of course."

She carried her gym bag to the bathroom. Janet Baker. Who would have believed it? What a beautiful daughter she had produced. And that daughter had been right: We were hot and heavy—at least for that time.

After a few minutes, the bathroom door opened, and Bree emerged. I was stunned. The only thing she was wearing were three American flags. Two of them were about 4 x 5 inches and, tied together with a white ribbon, they covered the front of her breasts. The third one, about 8 x 10, and also tied with a ribbon, covered the area below her belly button. She walked to the center of the room carrying her speech.

"This is what you're going to wear when you read your essay?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, not exactly, but this is the outfit that my mom put together for me to wear when I gave you a preview of my reading," she said. "She said that you would get a kick out of it." She turned around to show me that she had an American flag on the back as well, so what she wore was sort of like an Indian loincloth.

"Well, that's hardly the word..."

"So can I read it? My mom added a couple of lines to the original."

"I guess..." I couldn't figure out what to make of this.

She began reading. "Why I am an American..."

About a third of the way through, I began to get an idea of what this was all about.

"....So if we don't participate in the democratic process, we will lose our freedoms and they will fall to the floor—just like this." She pulled the bow of the ribbon on the side of her chest, and the two small flags that covered her breasts fell to the carpet. Her nipples, about an inch wide, were a lovely pink, probably proving she was a real blonde—as her mother had been.

About two thirds of the way through the five minute speech, she came to another mom-inserted line: "So if we all don't go out and vote, our rights will fall to the ground—just like this flag." She pulled the ribbon at the side of her hip, and the flags front and back fell to the carpet. Now she was completely naked, and she continued the speech that way.

Since her eyes were on the speech, I could feast my eyes without embarrassment on her lovely little tuft of blonde hair. It looked like it had hardly been used.

"And that's why I like being an American," she concluded.

"That is a very charming speech, and you will have to tell your mother that I loved it," I said. "But there are seven other contestants in this contest, so if this is meant to be some kind of a bribe, I have to tell you that I cannot accept it."

"You already have accepted half of it—just by watching," she said. She stepped forward, so close that I could smell the warm musky perfume of her skin. "Do you want the other half?"

"What is that?" I croaked.

"My mom told me to be sure to tell you that I've been on the pill for the past six months, since I and my boyfriend have been doing it," she said softly.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to."

I could feel myself withering. "How old are you?" I asked.

"I just turned eighteen," she replied.

That was it. I ask you, dear reader, what would you have---Oh, never mind, I know what you would have done. But lucky for me, I'm a man of high moral values.

That's why I jumped at the chance. I unzipped my pants. "Do you know how to suck cock?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Then please do so."

She got on her knees, put her hand into my pants, and pulled it out herself. "You're really big," she said.

"Watching you has made it that way."

She licked the head of my cock for awhile, and then she took it into her mouth. She might have been small, but she was able to swallow the whole thing, and I began to envy her boyfriend.

I realized I was going to pop at any moment, but I did not want to lose this wonderful opportunity that probably would never come again. I pulled my cock out of her mouth. "I want to fuck you," I said.

"Okay." She stood up.

"You can straddle me." And spreading her legs, she did exactly that. I tried to stuff it in her tiny twat but found that she was too tight. "You need some lubrication," I said. I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the bed. After laying her down, I got between her thighs, dipped down and began eating her as if she was the daily dessert special.

God, she tasted so good! Just like peach juice. In a little while, between my lubrication and her own natural juices, she was ready. I lifted her narrow hips up and plunged my cock into her. I fucked her as hard as I could for about five minutes, then came deep inside and collapsed on top of her. I think she came too, but that could be just self-flattery on my part. It was not until I got off of her that I remembered that this was motel-row. The blinds of my room were fully open, and a Holiday Inn was only fifty feet away! I went over to the blinds, bowed to acknowledge any silent applause and closed them. Some folks must have gotten a very nice show, better than they would have seen on the hotel Adult Channel—if Holiday Inn had one.

"Give your mom my regards—and tell I said thank you VERY much," I said after she had dressed and was preparing to go.

"I will," she said with a smile. "And thank you—I really enjoyed it. No wonder my mom liked you."

"That was a long time ago. But I don't think you have anything to worry about in the essay contest tomorrow."

"Wonderful," she said, and she left.

The next day, I was picked up by the chairman of the alumni association and taken to the auditorium. I listened attentively to all eight of the five-minute essays on "Why I Am an American." I pondered all of their merits since I am a man of high moral values.

And guess who won?

The End