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“That is the coward’s way out. Dying solves nothing. It doesn’t make things right. It doesn’t make up for your crimes. It’s just a way to escape your guilt and avoid facing what you’ve done.”

“There we go! I knew you'd remember!” She grinned wickedly, releasing my dick and using both hands to fiddle at the side of her skirt. It fell away, revealing an unbelievable, thick eight inch cock, springing ready and eager into the air! God damn! I'd never have guessed Ray, of all people, had a dick like that! If I'd known, maybe we wouldn't have picked on him so much. “All senior year, you and your jock friends thinking you were such hot stuff! Pinning me down, making me suck you off, calling me your sissy faggot bitch, just because I was a little bit effeminate, and wasn't into sports! Taking pictures of me doing it, blackmailing me, so you didn't even have to hold me down anymore! Making me come whenever you'd call! You have no idea how long I've been dreaming about this moment! But we're going to see who's the bitch now, aren't we Brian? Oh, yeah! We're going to see!”

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.