Dear readers:
I noticed this website has a "non-erotic" category. This story fits perfectly into it because it is just a cute and slightly long yarn about a group of four fifth-grade boys who are smitten with a beautiful new classmate named Cathy. This tale may not be your cup of tea because there is no sexual activity in the story whatsoever. Zilch. Nil. Nada. You have been warned. However, if you remember what it was like to be a fifth-grade boy who has just discovered that girls are worth knowing, you might just get a kick out of it.
Part One
My name is Larry Ellis. I have a January birthday. This meant during my school days I was always among the oldest kids in my class. Sometimes I was the oldest one. As a result, I had to have been among the first boys my age to hit puberty and notice the attractive aspects of the girls who attended my public school.
I recall during the final weeks of the fourth grade in 1974, when I was about 10½ years old, a cute blonde girl named Alissa who sat one row over and two seats up from me suddenly caught my attention. This was entirely new and odd to me because I did not think a single one of my male classmates had the slightest interest in girls. This proved to be incorrect. During the last day of school before summer break, I noticed a classmate named Jeremy Collins looking strangely nervous. I asked him what was bothering him.
“Larry, I want to do something before we are dismissed for summer vacation, but I’m not sure I have the courage to do it,” he said.
“Well, what is it?” I curiously asked him.
Jeremy took a deep breath and said, “It’s this! Wish me luck!”
He then walked confidently across the classroom to where Bethany Hewitt was chatting with another girl. Jeremy boldly said, “Excuse me for saying so, Bethany, but I think you are beautiful. I’ve had a crush on you for months. May I kiss you?”
The little black-haired girl, who was indeed a cutie, was taken aback for a moment, but she smiled sweetly at Jeremy and said, “Sure! I’d like that.” Jeremy immediately gave her a tepid peck on the cheek.
“That’s not really a kiss, Jeremy,” she promptly declared. “This is!” Bethany wrapped her arms around Jeremy and gave him a very affectionate buss on the lips. Of course, when the other fourth-graders saw what was happening, they oohed, aahed and gasped in amazement. That drew the attention of Mrs. Dennison, our fiftyish teacher, who scolded both Jeremy and Bethany for their “inappropriate classroom conduct.” I shook my head and gave her a quiet raspberry—which she did not hear—for her killjoy attitude about a budding romance.
The upbraiding had no effect whatsoever on Jeremy. He practically floated back to his desk and sat there with a goofy expression on his face until the bell rang 20 minutes later. It occurred to me that Jeremy had a January birthday, too—ten days after mine. He and Bethany walked out of our fourth-grade classroom for the last time happily holding hands.
Part Two
During the first week of the fifth grade, I began to notice that almost all of my male classmates were beginning to take greater interest in their female counterparts. There were subtle glances directed towards the girls and outright leers that weren’t so subtle. I and three buddies (Terry, Greg and Kevin) often spent our recesses simply standing around and watching girls pass by us. Our school had students from kindergarten to grade six. Of course, some of the oldest girls were obviously pubescent and drew our collective attention because of their burgeoning charms. On the other hand, there were several younger girls in the fourth grade who were just stunningly pretty. We liked eying them, too.
Greg openly wondered, “Is it right for us to be looking at fourth-grade girls now that we’re in the fifth grade?”
“Of course!” replied Terry. “That’s perfectly normal. A one-year age difference is nothing. Hey, my father is about three years older than my mother.”
“Mine too,” I quickly added.
Then Kevin said something hilarious. He noted, “My dad is six years older than my mom. If we follow Terry’s logic, the four of us ought to be gawking at preschool girls!”
Part Three
Mr. Morgan was my fifth-grade teacher. He was the first male teacher I ever had. He was also the first teacher of mine who arranged the classroom desks into groups instead of rows. There were five clusters of six desks arranged in a way that the three students seated on one side of the group were facing three other students. Apparently, this system better facilitated group work and cooperation. I wasn’t sure about that, but it certainly made it easier for weaker students to copy the work of superior pupils—which, as one of the latter, I resented.
When the school year began the day after Labor Day, Mr. Morgan had 29 students in his class. Thus, there was one empty desk in one of the groups. On the second Friday of September, before dismissing us for the weekend, Mr. Morgan informed us that, as of Monday, the vacant desk would be occupied by a thirtieth pupil. He said, “I just learned this today. I don’t know who it is, but I’m sure you’ll welcome this new student into our classroom.”
When Monday morning arrived and the school bell sounded, the usual 29 students strolled into Mr. Morgan’s class to find him oddly absent when the morning announcements started over the school’s P.A. system. Our principal began them by saying, “If you are a student in Mr. Morgan’s class, don’t worry. Your teacher will be with you momentarily—and he will have your new classmate with him. Make sure to give her a warm welcome to our school.”
“Yay! It’s another girl!” shouted Bonnie Jones. In previous years, all the boys would have been disappointed. Now many of them were quietly thinking what Bonnie had said, but for entirely different reasons.
Within a minute or so, Mr. Morgan entered his classroom alongside a living doll and led her to the vacant desk. A medium-height girl with curly brunette locks, she had a beautiful aura about her; she absolutely glowed. She had a bright smile, a pretty face unmatched by any girl at the school, and she dressed nicely, too. Furthermore, she even had the beginning of breasts—at least enough to wear a certain female undergarment that perhaps two of her new classmates did. By fifth-grade standards, she was just about perfect for a male classmate to admire. Automatically, Kevin, Greg, Terry and I exchanged quick glances with each other. Kevin flashed the thumbs-up sign. Greg had his mouth wide open. Terry had a huge smile on his face. I even saw Melissa Conway, who was suddenly no longer the prettiest girl in the class, silently mouth “Oh, wow!” upon seeing the new champion. I don’t know what kind of pleased expression I had, but I suspect it was a doozy.
“Everyone, I’d like your attention, please,” Mr. Morgan said. “This is your new classmate, Cathy Devlin. Her family just moved into town this past weekend. Please greet her appropriately. On the count of three, everyone please say, ‘Hello, Cathy’!” We all did. I couldn’t help myself in elongating my personal greeting to “Hello there, Miss Cathy Devlin! Yes!” which was heard by just about everyone in the class, most of whom laughed. Mr. Morgan quickly glanced at me but said nothing.
Oddly, Lindsay Fraser, the petite girl who sat beside me in our group, gave me a sharp elbow to my ribs and a decidedly dirty look. When I asked her as softly as possible why she did that, she did not answer me. She only glared.
“Cathy,” Mr. Morgan continued, “the girl seated to your left is Dorothy Frankel—and she’s a smart cookie. She has volunteered to help get you up to speed in all the schoolwork you’ve missed. Feel free to ask her for help whenever you need it.”
I immediately envied Dorothy Frankel because I was a smart cookie, too. Why couldn’t the vacant desk have been next to mine?
About 90 minutes later, when the bell for recess rang, Mr. Morgan, who was probably 35, quietly stopped me from going outside for a moment. When he was certain that no one could hear him, he said to me with a smile. “Larry, that was a very enthusiastic greeting you gave our new student, Cathy. I’m sure she appreciated it.” In a whisper he continued, “I was your age once, Larry. Cathy was definitely worthy of it. On Friday I asked Dorothy to help whomever our new student would be because the vacant desk was beside her. Had I known in advance...well, you know...I would have shuffled the groups a bit and put the vacant desk beside you. Oh, well. Now go outside and enjoy recess!” For years I had heard that Mr. Morgan was regarded as our school's “cool teacher.” This was a good example why.
When I finally stepped outside, Kevin, Greg and Terry were eagerly waiting for me. I somehow knew the topic of conversation would not be the morning's math assignment.
“Okay, catch me up. What have you been saying about Cathy Devlin?” I asked them.
Terry began. “Greg said Cathy is now the prettiest girl in the fifth grade. I think that’s a terrible understatement. She’s the prettiest girl in the whole school—perhaps any school.”
Kevin further praised our new classmate. “That’s not good enough. She’s prettier than any girl on TV. Name someone prettier.”
I suggested that Cathy wasn’t yet in the same league as Maureen McCormick from The Brady Bunch or Susan Dey from The Partridge Family, “but give her a few years. She’ll outshine both of them.” All three of my friends nodded.
I had a suggestion. “After school, we should follow her home to find out where she lives.”
“Then what?” Terry asked.
“I have no idea,” I stated, “but it’s a start.”
Accordingly, at the end of the school day we gave Cathy a head start of about two minutes. Then we followed her from about a block’s distance. She walked eight blocks westward, turned left onto Poplar Boulevard and entered house #19. We felt compelled to walk by it and gawk for a few moments.
“Okay, we now know where the prettiest girl in our school lives,” said Greg. “What do we do with that information?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I stated.
“Does anyone have the courage to knock on her door and talk to her?” asked Terry.
None of us did. All of us were too much in awe of beautiful Cathy Devlin. We dispersed and went our separate ways. I had deviated seven blocks from my normal walking route from school.
Part Four
The four of us automatically followed Cathy home every school day for the next week, gradually shortening the distance between us and her to about half a block. On the fifth day we were close enough to see a woman, presumably Cathy’s mother, open the door for her. We continued walking until we were right in front of the Devlin house. We were just lingering there when the door suddenly opened again.
“Boys, are you here to see Cathy?" inquired the pleasant woman from her front porch.
“We’ll I suppose so,” I said.
That vague answer seemed to puzzle Mrs. Devlin. “For heaven’s sake, why are you standing out there instead of knocking on the door?” she reasonably asked the four of us.
“To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Devlin, all four of us are in her class at school—and were all scared to death of Cathy,” Greg stated.
“Why would you be scared of Cathy? She’s very friendly!” her mother stated.
Kevin entered the conversation. “Oh, we know that,” he said. “We also know that she’s the prettiest girl in the world...and that totally intimidates us.”
That declaration of honesty earned Kevin three punches to his arm from us and a hearty laugh from Cathy’s mother who stated, “At this very moment, the prettiest girl in the world, according to you four boys, is sitting alone in the rec room watching TV. Please come in and join her, if you wish.”
We all looked at one another and quickly accepted the invitation.
When we stepped inside the house, Mrs. Devlin took our jackets as we introduced ourselves. She noticed that Kevin was breathing rapidly. He noted, “I think I’m hyperventilating and I’m not even in the same room as Cathy yet.”
“I’ve never seen anything like you boys before,” Mrs. Devlin said. “Honestly, my Cathy is just a typical 10-year-old girl.”
“That’s scary enough for us,” Terry stated. “Add Cathy’s good looks to the mix—and this is what you get: Four terrified fifth-grade boys.”
“Cathy, come upstairs, please,” her mother shouted. “Your fan club has dropped by to watch TV with you.”
A voice from the lower floor shouted, “My what?”
“Four of your classmates were lingering outside so I invited them in to watch TV with you. Come upstairs and greet them, please.”
Cathy ascended the staircase and recognized us immediately. “Oh, it’s you guys,” she said. “Mom, this is Larry, Terry, Greg and Kevin from my class at school. I got your names right, didn’t I?”
I assured her that she had.
Cathy said, “You guys must all live around here because I’ve noticed you walking behind me when I go home. It’s odd, though, that I don’t notice you when I walk to school in the mornings.”
The four of us looked at each other before Terry jumped in as our spokesman. “To be totally honest with you, Cathy, I live six blocks from here, Larry lives seven or eight blocks from here...and these other two guys live so far away in other directions that I can’t count the number of blocks.”
“So why do you always end up on this street after school?” Cathy asked.
None of us wanted to answer that question, so Mrs. Devlin prodded us. “You four boys are all nice but supremely pitiful. Do I have to repeat to Cathy what you told me a couple of minutes ago?”
“Alright, I’ll do it,” I said. “The moment you walked into Mr. Morgan’s classroom we all thought you were the prettiest girl in the class...”
Greg said, “That’s not right. She’s the prettiest girl in the whole school.”
“That’s not right, either,” insisted Terry. “She’s the prettiest girl in any school.”
Kevin stopped hyperventilating long enough to put in his two cents’ worth. “No, she’s the prettiest girl in the whole world, period.”
There was a long pause, Cathy looked at her mother, then looked at us and finally said, “That has to be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to anyone.” She hugged every one of us and then went down the row again to kiss each one of us on the cheek.
“I think we’re all going to faint,” I declared jokingly, “especially Kevin. He’s hyperventilating again.”
Even though Cathy was laughing, I noticed there were tears in her eyes, so I handed her a packet of tissues from my pocket.
Her mother said, “Cathy was very afraid she’d have trouble making new friends once we moved a thousand miles westward. I see she has at least four.”
“I think it’s closer to 84,” Terry added. “I’m fairly confident that Cathy has male admirers at our school spanning the fourth, fifth and sixth grades. Mrs. Devlin, you need to realize you have a stunningly beautiful daughter.”
“Well...I believe that comment deserves a kiss from me!” Mrs. Devlin stated—and she promptly kissed all four of us.
“We need to come here every day!” I quipped.
Mrs. Devlin announced, “I think you boys should stay and have a pizza dinner with us—as a reward. I never was a fifth-grade boy, but I suppose that took a lot of courage to come here and say what you’ve said. I guess we girls can be intimidating to you young fellows.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Greg said. “It’s just the gorgeous ones who intimidate us.”
Mrs. Devlin insisted the pizza offer was wholly legitimate and told us we should all call home to say we were having dinner with a classmate’s family. When Kevin phoned his house, his conversation with his father was very amusing. It went something like this...
“Hi, Dad. I won’t be home for dinner. I’m having pizza at Cathy Devlin’s house instead. No, I’m not kidding! Yes, Cathy is the beautiful classmate I’ve told you about. Yes, she’s the one I refer to as the fifth-grade goddess. So, is it okay? Good. No, you can’t!” Kevin quickly hung up the phone.
“What was the ‘no, you can’t’ about?” Mrs. Devlin asked Kevin.
“My dad wanted to know if he could drop by to see if Cathy’s mother is as pretty as Cathy is.”
Part Five
Cathy’s mom asked us where the best pizza place nearby was. There was a split decision, but we finally agreed that Pizza City was very good. Mrs. Devlin ordered three large pies for the eight diners, which included Cathy’s father and little sister. Her dad picked them up, along with four large bottles of soft drinks, on his way home from work.
He was a super nice guy who wanted to know why his family of four had suddenly expanded to eight for that night’s meal. “Who are you fine fellows, anyway?” he asked us.
Greg said, “We’re four of Cathy’s classmates from school.” Then he stated our names. He felt compelled to add, “We’re also her boyfriends.”
“Boyfriends...plural?” Mr. Devlin asked for clarification.
“Yes, the plural,” Greg reiterated. “One of us is going to marry your daughter someday. We just haven’t determined which one yet.” We all nodded in agreement.
He laughed and said, “I always knew my daughter was a looker and would have many suitors, but I didn’t think she’d be attracting multiple boyfriends for a few years.”
“We wanted to beat the inevitable rush,” I joked.
The pizza was delicious, and we all sat around the TV to eat it. Among the shows we watched was a rerun of Bewitched from 1966. All four of us were dedicated fans of the sitcom. After it ended, we debated which of the two Darrins was better in the role. All the males in the room agreed that Elizabeth Montgomery, the female lead, was a very beautiful woman. I added, “She’s not as pretty as Cathy, though.”
Cathy blushed and said, “Larry, that’s a very kind compliment, but you can’t be serious!”
“Sure, I’m serious, Cathy. We all think you’re prettier than anybody on TV.”
Then Mr. Devlin’s voice rang out. He asked us, “What about Barbara Eden from I Dream of Jeannie?”
There was a long silence. Cathy broke it by giggling. “Let’s change the subject,” I suggested, knowing full well that no female, celebrity or otherwise, could top the luscious Barbara Eden in her genie outfit.
“Honey, you have a wonderful foursome of admirers here,” Mr. Devlin stated. “They think you’re only behind Barbara Eden in the good-looks department. I’d say that’s not too shabby.”
It had been a great afternoon and evening of food and socializing. “You four guys are really sweethearts and fun to be around,” Cathy told us with a dreamy smile as we were ready to leave. “May I hug you all again, please?”
The four of us laughed. I said, “Save me for last, Cathy, because I might not let you go.”
Part Six
Word of our impromptu pizza party with Cathy and her family circulated through Mr. Morgan’s class and beyond. The four of us became something akin to celebrities for having been hugged and kissed by our school’s most beautiful girl. For the next several days, we constantly doted on Cathy, helping her put on her jacket, sharpening her pencils, carrying her tray in the lunch room, and anything else we could think of doing for her. Then something unexpected happened.
After lunch one afternoon, I took my place at my desk beside Lindsay Fraser. She had a question for me. “Larry, why don’t you cater to me like you do to Cathy?”
I laughed for a moment—and then I saw she was completely serious. “Well...” I began as I struggled to come up with a suitable answer, “Cathy’s the new girl in this school, and the guys and I just want to make her feel welcome here.”
“The fact that she’s gorgeous has nothing to do with it?” Lindsay persisted.
“Well, maybe just a smidgen,” I conceded with a smile.
Lindsay frowned and said, “I understand that you four lovesick bozos were invited into her house after you told her mother that Cathy was the most beautiful girl in the universe. Is that right?”
“To be totally accurate, I think we said she was the prettiest girl in the world,” I said.
Lindsay took a deep breath and said something extraordinary. “So being honest about your feelings worked out for the four of you. Okay, I guess it’s my turn to be honest now. Larry, I’ve been a classmate of yours since the second grade. Towards the end of last year, for some unknown reason, I developed a huge crush on you. I didn’t say anything; I stupidly hoped you would just figure it out. But you didn’t. It’s just as well, I guess, because you’re only interested in having Cathy Devlin as a girlfriend—and not me.”
A light came on in my head. “Oh! That explains why you elbowed me in the ribs the day Cathy first entered our class!”
“Yes, that’s right,” Lindsay confirmed. Then she started to cry softly.
“Don’t do that, Lindsay,” I pleaded. “Please don’t cry; I hate it when girls cry!” I handed her some tissues from my pocket.
The bell to resume classes hadn’t sounded yet, but Mr. Morgan saw that something was clearly amiss with Lindsay. He asked if she was okay, but her weeping intensified.
“I think she’s upset with me about something personal, Mr. Morgan,” I said. “May I talk to her privately in the hallway. It won’t take too long.” Mr. Morgan understandingly said we could take as much time as we needed to resolve whatever the issue was.
I took Lindsay by the hand and led her into the hallway. We moved about 15 feet from the door so our conversation would be a private one.
“Lindsay, please pull yourself together,” I said to her. “I’m trying to figure out what the problem is.”
Lindsay ceased her crying for a moment and said, “The problem is I really like you, Larry—and have for a long time—but you act like I don’t exist. That hurts me inside.”
“All you had to do was tell me,” I replied gently. “As my dad often says, women think all males are mind-readers. We’re a lot of things—but that isn’t one of them.”
“So, Larry, if I had told you I wanted you as my boyfriend, you would have said yes?” Lindsay asked me.
“I can’t say for certain, but there’s a strong chance I would have said yes,” I told her.
“Can I still ask you now?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s see what happens.”
Lindsay took a deep breath and said, “Larry Ellis, I really like you and I think we should be a couple. Will you be my boyfriend?”
“That’s not a difficult question,” I said in return. “The answer is a definite yes!”
Lindsay’s tears stopped immediately and she embraced me with as tight a bear hug as her small body was capable of generating. I hugged her back. This show of affection continued for about 30 seconds until Lindsay suddenly separated herself from me.
“What about Cathy, though?” she asked me in a worried tone.
“What about her?” I asked her back.
“Isn’t she your girlfriend at the moment?”
“Well, Cathy Devlin is a very beautiful girl, like you, who happens to be a friend. I’ve never been alone with her, so I don’t think she has any claim on me,” I explained. “However, we’ve hugged twice and she did kiss me on the cheek once, so you have some catching up to do, Lindsay. You owe me at least one more hug and one kiss on the cheek.”
Lindsay, now beaming, embraced me again and surprised me with a kiss on the lips. “Now I’m in the lead, ” she said with a broad smile. We kissed a second time.
“Now you have a huge lead,” I declared.
Part Seven
I continued to dote on Cathy Devlin as much as my three buddies did, but I doted on Lindsay Fraser even more. She was fun and friendly, cute and affectionate. She was also quite good academically, which impressed me. We had an on-and-off romantic relationship for 13 years before we both came to the shared realization that we were meant to spend our lives together. We were married in the summer of 1987 when we were both 23.
Cathy Devlin remained my friend—and Lindsay’s too—into adulthood. Her beauty increased as she aged. Lindsay was the first to admit that Cathy had no peer in our school and beyond in good looks. She was stunningly attractive on her wedding day in 1988. Lindsay and I were on the guest list when she married my old school buddy Kevin. When the gorgeous Cathy strode up the church aisle on her father’s arm, Kevin humorously announced in a loud voice, “Wow! I’m about to marry Cathy Devlin, the most beautiful woman in the world! Imagine that! I think I’m going to hyperventilate!”