AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reading the previous chapters is mandatory to understand the setting and characters.
SUMMARY: A shy and socially awkward virgin's journey to becoming a sex instructor on campus. The reason why girls wanted to have sex with him was weird. It wasn't because he was hot or had a big cock. It all began with a random request from his high school crush...
All characters are eighteen and above.
Note to reader: I've previously mentioned "La Pute" in Chapter 3. But I've decided to retcon (retrospectively revised) to reintroduce La Pute again in this chapter since I've not talked about it since. If you can't remember what La Pute is, it's all good. I'll explain it in this chapter.
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Chapter 7: The Taco Affair
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I watched Ezra take a wad of tissue and wipe it between her thighs, causing a thrill to rise in me, knowing the naked Ezra was wiping my leaking cum out of her because I had come inside her three times.
To think that my day was not over yet! A foursome and anal sex with my three favorite girls were planned for later in the day.
Then I was abruptly slapped by guilt and anxiety. I had forgotten about the number one cardinal rule of having sex: always make sure the girl is protected.
My high school had one of the highest teenage pregnancy rates in the country. There were at least two or three girls who got pregnant every year. It was so common that it wasn't considered a scandal when a student got pregnant. It was a culture that accepted that the students were having sex often. Accidents like getting pregnant and STDs happened. Those who got pregnant were not slut-shamed or bullied.
On the contrary, they were pitied, consoled, and supported. Instead, the boys who were responsible were criticized and blamed for not using protection. After one such pregnancy was reported, Lisa and Denise randomly turned to me when we were sitting in the cafeteria and said, "Always make sure the girl is protected before you stick your dick inside." It was a lesson I always tried to remember even though I wasn't having sex in high school.
My high school was right smack between two diametrically opposed areas. On one side, where Denise and Tony had lived, were the ultra-liberal and feminist-loving residents, largely thanks to Mrs. Kelton's efforts. It was the zip code of upper-class, affluent families.
On the other side, where Lisa and I had lived, was where the right-wing conservative middle class stayed. It was where anyone caught engaging in premarital sex should be burned at the stake if executions were legal. I once asked Mrs. Kelton why she chose to live on our side of town. Her reply was there was no point in converting people who were already converted. Needless to say, the Kelton family was not popular in our conservative area.
Unfortunately for my parents, with the wealthy progressive controlling the school board, their liberal policies governed the school. Conservative parents like mine condemned the lack of a strict dress code. Short skirts, plunging necklines, and transparent fabrics were the norm. Lots of bare skin was showing everywhere. Kissing, petting, and PDA were commonly seen.
Whenever unhappy parents complained about the students' dressings and behaviors, liberal parents like Mrs. Kelton would argue that instituting and enforcing a strict dress code would violate the students' constitutional right to freedom of expression. Rather than enforcing PDA rules and/or a dress code, Mrs. Kelton championed easier access to birth control and better sex education.
However, the school board eventually compromised when a debacle made the front page news. It all started when a group of girls decided to challenge each other to see who could wear the most provocative and risque attire. For some time, walking around the school was like walking into the initial scene of a porn video titled "High School Sex Party." See-through tube tops so sheer that they might as well not be wearing them, bright-colored thongs that sat high on their hips and above their mini-shorts or skirts for all to see, mini-skirts so short that the teachers could see what they were wearing underneath. The final straw that broke the camel's proverbial back came when girls started wearing unbuttoned shirts with their bras exposed for all to see.
Teenage boys loved the free show, but the teachers complained that it had reached the point where it was impossible to look at the female students without being liable for sexual harassment, but what eventually got the school to instill some sort of dress code was when it was impossible for teachers to teach properly.
The Conservatives argued that when the teachers couldn't be effective in their jobs, they were robbing students of the right to education. Denise told me her father said that, technically, the Constitution only requires that all kids be given equal educational opportunity no matter their race, ethnic background, religion, or sex, or whether they are rich or poor, citizen or non-citizen. So the Constitution was not violated in this case, though an argument could be made about public indecency. Liberals being liberals, however, decided that the teachers had a point. If the teachers couldn't teach properly, the students were not learning. So the school board instituted a vague dress code that students' dressing must not "violate public decency" without specifying exactly what was considered a violation. By then, the group of girls who started the challenge was also getting bored of it, so they decided to drop the whole thing.
My parents would have moved away long ago if not for my father's job as an urban planning engineer. My father's moral code and a strong sense of professional responsibility meant he disliked abandoning projects, even if they took decades to complete.
They had wanted me to transfer to a more conservative high school that was in line with their beliefs, but gradually, they became more accepting as they witnessed the progress in my social development. Finally, I had friends for the first time in my life, even though my friends were not considered ideal.
My parents both loved and hated that I was friends with Lisa. They loved that Lisa had helped me grow socially but hated everything Mrs. Kelton stood for. However, like most adults, they loved Tony. Tony could schmooze any parent as quickly as he could charm girls' panties off.
When I first started attending high school, my parents were worried that I didn't have friends. No, Lisa didn't count. No, the Keltons were a bad influence. No, Lisa was not considered a good friend, but Lisa took these in her strides. Her family was used to it. Eventually, Lisa won them over when they found out how Lisa and Tony got together and how much Lisa was helping me to be more sociable.
After hearing their incessant nagging, I began telling them all about Tony. I wasn't the kind that talked to my parents about my friends, and they didn't ask about it because they thought I didn't have any. So when I started telling them about Tony when I was a junior, they didn't believe I had a popular friend like Tony -- a person who was everything I wasn't. A person who they wished I was. So they insisted on inviting Tony over for Sunday tea. My parents enjoyed hosting guests on Sunday after church, with my mother baking her delicious apple pies. I grudgingly agreed just to show them I didn't have an imaginary friend named Tony. It was easier for me for my parents to believe I had an imaginary friend named Tony.
I was nervous the first time I invited Tony over. My house was like a shack in the woods compared to Tony's mansion, but Tony paid no mind to that. By the end of the first meeting with my parents, Tony had somehow convinced them he would rather stay in our shack than his mansion. He praised my parents and our home often. His praises might sound like nothing more than flattery, but they were specific and sincere enough to be believable.
"Ken never mentions how lovely your house feels. Where did you buy that lamp? It makes the living room feel so homey."
"How did you grow these orchids? My mother could never keep plants alive to save her life."
"Too bad I have dinner at home. The food smells amazing! Where did you learn to cook like that?"
"What salon did you use? I love how your hairstyle frames your face and accentuates your lips. My mother always complains that her stylist always has the talent of making her face look puffy."
"Ken told me you played tennis in college. My parents tried to force me to learn tennis when I was eight. Eventually, they gave up after I couldn't master the backhand technique."
(The last one was a lie, of course. Tony excelled in every sport.)
Fifteen-year-old Tony wasn't as smooth as he was now, though he made up for it with genuine enthusiasm. The trick to giving great compliments, I observed from Tony, was to show interest by asking deeper follow-up questions. Instead of simply saying, "This apple pie is delicious," Tony would go one step further and ask, "What's your secret?"
The conversation flowed easily, with Tony setting the pace and topic effortlessly. My parents had prepared a list of questions they wanted to ask Tony to ensure he wasn't a bad influence on me, but they ended up spending most of the time answering Tony's curious questions.
That day, I also learned things about my parents that I never knew before. For instance, I knew my mother loved gardening from the number of plants we had inside and outside the house. Still, I didn't think she was proud of her gardening knowledge. Tony spent more than thirty minutes just discussing orchids with her. I learned then that orchids were among the most challenging plants to grow. Orchids were susceptible to root rot, which happened easily when the soil was too moist. My mother eventually shared her secret through repeated coaxing: adding three ice cubes once a week was enough.
People would describe my parents as courteous, amicable, and humble. The last trait was something they wore silently like a badge of honor. To ensure my father wasn't neglected, Tony also spent enough time asking him about urban planning.
While they were not the talkative type, they were effective conversationalists. They knew how to be engaging in conversation, a skill they struggled to teach me as I was growing up. They seldom talked about what they were good at or were interested in because talking about themselves was considered rude. Urban planning was a topic my father had a great interest in but seldom talked about because he thought most people would find it boring. But not Tony. Tony listened to my father's lecture and asked insightful questions like a teacher's pet.
When I told Tony he had charmed my judgmental parents with flying colors the next day, he merely shrugged. Easy peasy, he said. His parents were "influential members of society," he grimaced, adding the air quotes. Growing up, he spent most weeknights attending social functions. Even at a young age, he learned how to talk to adults, read social cues and appear interested enough to impress others. It was expected of him and his siblings.
The thing about Tony was he was always likable enough, even though he seldom cared what others thought of him. Yet, he seemed to have made an extra effort to get my parents to like him as though they were his prospective parents-in-law. I was touched when I realized he did all this for my benefit.
When I jokingly asked Tony how he managed to come up on the spot with such nice things to say, he replied that he was just being truthful. "If you pay attention, you can always find nice things to say about others without having to lie."
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