Part One
My name is Danny Jacobson. When I was in elementary school in the 1970s, there was a heavyset girl named Saralynn Samuels who always seemed to be in my class. My perception was correct. I recently checked my old yearbooks and class photos. They confirmed that Saralynn was a classmate of mine in every academic year but one from the third grade through the eighth grade.
Saralynn was a friendly, cheerful, blonde girl who had a cute face. The trouble was she was quite obese. That trait obviously ran in her family as she had an older brother and younger sister at the same school who were both overweight, too. (Saralynn was actually the thinnest of the three.) Generally speaking, kids in the 1970s ate healthier and got more exercise than their counterparts in the 21st century. Thus, the children in the Samuels family were outliers.
Kids will be cruel, so Saralynn was often secretly mocked about her stature. Around that time, the hyphenated word “super-sized” became part of the English language, often to advertise large-portion soft drinks at fast-food restaurants. Naturally, the kids at school applied it to her to give her the alliterative nickname “Super-Sized Saralynn”. I don’t recall anyone having the nerve or rudeness to say the moniker to Saralynn’s face, however, but it was widely used in quiet conversations—and I admit I was as guilty of it as anyone. I’m sure she must have known about it.
Saralynn lived half a block away from me, although I never went into her house nor did she ever enter mine. On a couple of occasions, Saralynn invited me to her home to watch TV after class was dismissed, but I always politely declined. Each time I used the convenient excuse that I was busy with something else. I suspect Saralynn knew I was lying.
Despite my being less than friendly to her, Saralynn obviously liked me for some inexplicable reason. In the final week of the fifth grade, everyone in our class had a project to create something akin to a homemade yearbook in which we wrote about memorable moments and achievements of the 1974-75 academic year. We were told to leave the back page blank by our teacher, Mr. Chalmers. On the last day of school, all our books were circulated throughout the classroom so everyone could sign every other student’s yearbook on the blank page. Most of my classmates just did their best fifth-grade handwriting to inscribe their names—and nothing else. However, weeks later, when I opened my yearbook for no particular reason, I saw that Saralynn had taken the time to sign mine in red ink. She had also written a personal message: “Hope you have a great summer, Danny! Your friend, Saralynn Samuels.” She had also drawn a series of red hearts under her signature. That definitely surprised me! From that point onward, I decided to be at least a bit more cordial toward Super-Sized Saralynn—but not in front of my friends, of course. According to elementary-school social protocols, that simply would not be a cool way to behave.
When I started high school in September of 1978, it took me a couple of weeks to realize that Saralynn was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t in any of my ninth-grade classes. I did not see her walking in the hallways, either. One day at lunchtime when my buddies and I were discussing our old elementary school classmates, I mentioned that Saralynn Samuels was not in my homeroom nor anywhere else that I could see. I commented that was unusual because she had been such a fixture in my classes at Parkland Elementary School for so many years.
“I understand she’s moved to another city,” Todd Foster informed me. “Super-Sized Saralynn’s little sister, Amanda, was often in my sister Jane’s classes. For a long time, Amanda regularly came to my house to play with Jane. The other day when I asked Jane why Amanda hadn’t visited lately, Jane mentioned the that Amanda’s family had recently moved. Where to, I don’t know. Anyway, there’s your answer as to why Saralynn is not at this high school. She doesn't live here anymore.” With that mystery solved, that was the last time I even thought of Saralynn Samuels for more than five years.
Part Two
In 1984, when I was a 20-year-old college student, I was working on a research project that required me to go to a larger, nearby city’s huge public library to access newspaper microfilms that could only be viewed there. I packed a lunch and planned on a full Saturday of using these newfangled, hand-cranked microfilm readers which were the height of technology back then. I got there about 25 minutes after the library opened and discovered its two microfilm readers, located on the third floor, were already occupied by people who had gotten there before I had. However, there was a sign on each machine declaring a 60-minute time limit if someone was wanting to use it. Anyone who was waiting could go to that floor’s help desk and reserve the next hour. I did. Much to my surprise, I saw a familiar person sitting behind the table. It was the smiling Saralynn Samuels. Despite the passage of about six years, she recognized me immediately. She warmly greeted me by saying, “Hi, old classmate!”
“Good heavens!” I replied. “Wow! Here’s someone from the past. Long time no see. How are you, Saralynn?”
She told me that she, her parents, and her two siblings were all quite fine and that she had been employed as a library assistant since graduating from high school. Saralynn also stated she enjoyed her job very much. I told her I was doing research for a local history assignment and I wanted to book a microfilm reader from 10 to 11 a.m. She penciled me in and said, “Unless one of those two fellows leaves early, you’ll likely have a 35-minute wait for a microfilm reader. To pass the time, why don’t you pull up a chair and talk to me, Danny? I want to know what you’ve been doing since we graduated from the eighth grade.” So I did.
I told her my life story from 1978 onward: I had graduated with honors from high school and I had entered the print-journalism program at the local community college the previous year. I even told her something that I had mentioned to no one else, not even my parents: I wasn’t certain that being a journalist was really for me but I was going to muddle through it to get my diploma and see where it might lead me. Saralynn surprisingly took my hand and sweetly said, “Danny, you’ll be a success at whatever you do. You have plenty of natural talents. That’s been obvious to me since I first had you as a classmate in the third grade.”
That was such a kind compliment that I instinctively kissed Saralynn on her left cheek. We were both surprised.
Saralynn gave me a puzzled look and asked, “Where was that when we were together for all those years at Parkland Elementary School?”
I then apologized for kissing her without permission.
“Don’t apologize, Danny. I liked it!” she noted. “I just wished that had happened 10 or 12 years ago.”
“Well, I sort of got that idea by how you signed my yearbook back in 1975,” I replied. “Remember those things that Mr. Chalmers had us make during the last week of school? You wrote more than just your name in mine.”
“Yeah,” Saralynn said before laughing. “I wrote red hearts in your yearbook...and also in Murray Clark’s and Tommy Rashford’s, and Jimmy Spencer’s...and three or four other boys’ books. I was very desperate to be liked by any boy at school when I was 11.”
Oddly, learning that fact nine years later hurt my feelings slightly. I had honestly thought that Saralynn had singled me out, but now I knew I was just one of a large group of fifth-grade boys she was trying to woo.
After much chatting, Saralynn looked at the clock and saw it was 10:59 a.m. She said, “Follow me, Danny, and I’ll get you onto one of the microfilm readers.” She marched toward the two middle-aged men who were using them and said, “Both your hours are now up. I have someone else who wants to use a microfilm reader. One of you will have to give up your machine for an hour. If no one volunteers, I’ll toss a coin. Neither one did, so, as Saralynn promised, a coin toss determined that the user of Machine #2 had to leave. “You can return in an hour,” Saralynn firmly but kindly informed him. I could tell she had handled this situation numerous times before. The loser rewound his microfilm reel, detached it, put in on a tray to be re-shelved, and left the area without comment.
“Here you go, Danny. You have this machine until 12 noon. Enjoy!” I sat down in the chair and was about to attach my microfilm reel to it when Saralynn kissed my cheek. She whispered in my ear, “Danny, I’ll do my best so you can stay as long as you want without being bumped.” Then she gave me a second kiss, which was noticed by the fiftyish gentleman still sitting at Machine #1. “Aren’t you special!” he noted with a sly smile once Saralynn had departed and could not hear him. “I’ve been using these microfilm readers for six months and I’ve never been kissed by any member of the library’s staff!”
An hour went by. The man at Machine #1 had left at about 11:40 a.m. and the other man never did return, so I was seated by myself. Saralynn tapped me on the shoulder and said she had penciled me in for a second hour—which sort of ran contrary to the posted rules—but she did it anyway. Then, when she was certain no one else was looking, she kissed me on the cheek again and strolled back to her desk. The same thing occurred each hour on the hour until the library closed at 5 p.m. When Saralynn kissed me at 4 p.m., and no one else was on the library’s third floor, I grabbed her by the wrist to stop her from walking away from me.
“Saralynn,” I said with a smile, “this is the best, most personalized service I’ve ever gotten at any public library. I must respond!” I rose from my chair, embraced her, and kissed her on the lips. She was in no hurry to stop, so she became the aggressive kisser. She was quite good at it, too!
“Doing anything once the library closes?” I asked her.
“Not yet,” she replied coyly, “but I have a hunch I’ll be doing something with you, Danny.”
At 4:50, Saralynn said, “Danny, I have to prepare for shutdown up here. Please rewind your microfilm reel, put it in its box, and then put the box onto the metal tray so I can file it away with the rest of them.” Then, with a naughty smile on her face, she put her left hand on my crotch and gave my genitalia a few squeezes.
“Let’s go to dinner somewhere and then we’ll amuse ourselves in some way afterward,” I told her.
Clearly emboldened, Saralynn subtly slipped her hand inside my trousers this time and gave my junk another squeeze. She whispered, “Yeah, we’ll figure out some way to amuse ourselves, Danny.”
Part Three
Saralynn suggested an Italian restaurant that was apparently a favorite of hers. It had an all-you-can-eat pasta option which we both ordered. As she worked on her third plate of spaghetti, Saralynn joked, “I didn’t get to be my size by dining on cottage cheese.”
I was starting to like Saralynn’s company more and more—especially since I figured we would end up in the sack together in a very short time. During my school career I had often fantasized about bedding certain classmates ever since the fourth grade when I began to notice the physical characteristics that made girls different than boys. Saralynn, despite being the first female classmate of mine to develop breasts, was not on my list of lustful targets.
“You may have noticed that I like guys and what they have between their legs,” Saralynn said in a soft voice. "I can’t remember a time when I didn’t.”
“Really?” I asked. “You surprise me, Saralynn.”
“It’s true,” she began. “Remember those times I asked you to come by my house to watch television all those years ago. Had you accepted my invitation, watching TV would not have been the primary reason I wanted you there. I first had sex with someone when I was 10. It was one of my brother’s friends. He was 13. He noticed that I had tits and took advantage of my naivete, but I liked it...a lot! We must have secretly gotten together eight or nine times to screw. I thought it was fabulous! I became addicted to sex, so I wanted to try it with the boys in my class whom I liked. You, Danny, were at the top of the list because you were always so nice to me. You didn’t care that I was—and still am—a fat girl." Saralynn paused for a moment and then asked me, "Danny, whom did you want to screw in our fifth-grade class—or didn’t you care about girls yet?”
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with Super-Sized Saralynn Samuels in 1984, but I answered her honestly. “I thought Heather Atkinson was extremely beautiful." Then I recited a list of young Heather’s appealing assets: “Pretty face. Shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair. Cute bum. And those terrific little breast buds that were pushing against the tight tops she always seemed to wear...”
“I get the idea, Danny, ” Saralynn interrupted. “You liked the pretty, thin types. My tits were much bigger than Heather’s. We could have had a lot of fun together. Your loss!”
I chuckled and suggested, “Maybe tonight we can make up for my turning down those elementary school invitations, huh?”
“That was my plan...about ten seconds after I saw you walk into my floor of the library today,” she stated. “I share an apartment with another girl named Valerie. I’ll go to the payphone and tell her I have a date and we need some privacy. Valerie and I have an agreement for such scenarios. She’ll vanish for a few hours so we can be alone and have a good fuck. What do you say to that plan, Danny?”
I was all in favor of it! “That sounds like a great plan to me, Saralynn. Let me settle the restaurant bill and we can be on our way.”
“Okay, but one last thing, Danny,” she said. “I know you are a good guy and a gentleman and everything like that, but don’t make love to me. I want you to fuck me hard! That’s the way I’ve liked to have sex since my brother’s friend first rode me when I was ten. Understood?”
Part Four
We were in separate cars, so I followed Saralynn to her apartment complex. Her unit was #204. Upon entering, Saralynn turned around and kissed me passionately. Then she said, “I’m going to pretend it’s the last day of school in 1975 before the summer recess. The bell has just rung and you figured out from what I wrote in your yearbook that I want to give you a roll in the hay—and you want to come to my house and fuck me in my own bedroom. Feel free to play along, Danny.”
“I think I can do that! Lead the way to your bed, young Saralynn Samuels!”
We both quickly undressed. As soon as we were both nude, Saralynn ordered me onto the bed. “Lie there so I can give you a blowjob, Danny. It’s all part of my fifth-grade fantasy of fucking you.”
I happily complied—and Saralynn was quite skillful at it. I liked how she alternated between licks and sucks. Her gentle strokes of my shaft got me as hard as I’d ever been since I’d hit puberty.
“Don’t make me come yet, Saralynn!” I warned her. “I don’t want to blow my load too early. I want to please you with my hard dick!”
Saralynn got the hint. “Please please me!” she said. “That’s not just the title of a Beatles song, Danny. Give me a good fucking.”
Saralynn and I switched places on her bed. She was now on her back. She spread her legs wide. Sure, as an obese girl, Saralynn was no physical beauty, but an awaiting pussy will always affect a male in a predictable and positive way. I mounted her and shoved my hard phallus into her crevice. It wasn’t especially tight, but it was a warm and wonderful place to be. I followed her instruction and thrusted my dick in and out of her without too much concern for anything beyond my own pleasure. We both seemed to be constantly grunting and moaning. It was quite fun to fuck Super-Sized Saralynn!
I changed position so we were side by side. That allowed me to play with her jugs while banging her. Her tits were excellent things to occupy my hands.
“Saralynn, you have lovely boobs. I should have done this with you back in 1975,” I told her as a compliment.
“Danny,” she reminded me, “it is June 1975. That’s part of the fantasy.”
“Oh, right!” I noted. “I forgot. In that case, you have fantastic boobs for someone your age—not just lovely ones.” I changed position so I could suck on them. I also gave her a quick titty fuck to prove my point.
In the few sexual encounters I’d had in the past, I’d always used the missionary position of screwing to come to an orgasm, so I told Saralynn, “I want to fuck you face to face—and go at it hard. My sweet girl, you are the best lay by far in Mr. Chalmers class.” This fantasy thing was quite appealing to me, too!
We repositioned ourselves so I could pound her pussy as hard as I possibly could.
“This is fantastic, Danny!” Saralynn declared. “When you come, I want you to spray your semen all over my body!”
That was exactly what I had envisioned. I felt the pressure of an impending ejaculation in my dick. After three long but slow thrusts, I pulled out of Saralynn’s box, shifted to a kneeling position, and fired away. A string of jism landed above her navel. A stronger second blast landed on and above her breasts. I knew I had a third cum shot within me so I move forward slightly to come on her face. A small, gooey rope landed on her nose, lips and right cheek. Saralynn was pleased and giggled her approval. I contentedly let out a manly groan of total sexual satisfaction.
After Saralynn wiped my semen from her body with paper towels, we laid in bed embracing, not saying very much for a minute or two. Finally, I said. “Saralynn, that was the best fucking I’ve ever had. That fantasy angle really worked. I don’t think I would have come so well without it. That was a great idea you had.”
Saralynn smiled and said, “Danny, I have to confess that while you were riding me missionary style, I occasionally fantasized about Dean Finnegan being the boy who was screwing me. Remember him from the fifth grade? I was attracted to him, too.”
“Yeah, I remember him vaguely,” I said. “Hey, whatever gets you off. I’m just glad it was my dick inside you—and not Dean’s”
Curiosity got the better of Saralynn. “Danny, did you think of anyone else while we were fucking?”
“No, just you,” I admitted. “I’m glad you are built to be ridden, Saralynn. If I had fucked the beautiful but skinny Heather Atkinson the same way I just fucked you, I would have enjoyed it immensely...but I think I would have killed her.”