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English isn't my thing. It's not that I don't like it, or don't like my teacher, but it's just never been my specialty. So, when I got a letter from my college of choice telling me I had better shape up or kiss my acceptance goodbye, I did what anyone would do: I tried to sleep with my teacher.Mr. McGrath, on the other hand, turned out to be a tougher nut to crack. Suddenly I was stuck with one option: I had to make it impossible for him to turn me down, and that meant putting in some serious effort and creativity. So, three Polaroids later, an anonymous letter, some kiss prints, and some real tears, and I was on my way to a recommendation.But things didn't work exactly like I expected. Of course. They did get hot, and I definitely got more than I bargained for, but let's just say that by the end of the story it was hard to tell who was seducing who. If you're curious to see exactly how my teacher responded to my advances you'll just have to buy the book. If it's not clear from the cover, this is a very naughty book intended for grownups.
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All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.
Copyright © 2017 by Guy New York
Published by QNY
Cover image © The Dirty Gentleman
Cover design by Guy New York
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
Anything for an A
About The Author
More by Guy New York
The letter was clear.
My acceptance was dependent on just one thing. If I exceeded expectations in English I was welcome to join the class of 2015. If I didn’t? Let’s just say community college was my next best option.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked English. I just didn’t try. I was more interested in physics and transcendentalism than I was in Poe, and I was more curious about architecture and pragmatism than I was poetry. I liked reading, and Mr. McGrath was a good teacher. He cared about his job and he wanted all of us to be excited. Even the dumb ones. He wanted them to try and fail like good little angels and he made my heart hurt. Such good intentions in a fucked up world always make me sad. He was an idealist, and like history has proved over and over again, he was going to be disappointed.
None of this changed the fact that I needed an A in his class if I was going to Vassar, and I was going to Vassar. I was going to drink, study, and party, and I was going to do it in that order. I was going to work hard, drink hard, and fuck hard, and one stupid class wasn’t going to ruin it for me.
If you think I hadn’t tried wearing a short skirt, asking good questions, and fluttering my eyelashes then you don’t know me. Or Mr. McGrath. I sat in the front row with no panties on, crossed my legs and pouted my lips. I wore tight sweaters, low-rise jeans, and skirts so short you’d notice my pubes if I hadn’t shaved them all off.
So yeah. That wasn’t going to work. Sure, he smiled at me, and I swear I saw him get hard one day, but his expressions held more sympathy and understanding than they did lust. After two weeks of trying my hardest, I was starting to hate him. If eighteen-year-old pussy didn’t sway his mind then maybe nothing would.
For some dumb reason, I asked my boyfriend about it one night. We were parked in his car at the view because, as always, our parents were home and there was nowhere else to go.
“Do you think Mr. McGrath would give me an A if I fucked him?”
“I heard he fucked Talia,” Mark replied.
“She’s a fucking liar! She couldn’t even get the track coach to let her blow him. There’s no fucking way.”
“I don’t know. Why would she lie bout it? And who said you could fuck someone else?”
I had his dick in my hand as we were talking and my bra was pushed up uncomfortably above my tits. We were so classy it was hard to know what to do with ourselves.
I reached behind me and unhooked the clip before sliding my bra off under my shirt and throwing it into the back seat. He had seen my tits so many times he hardly looked, but he did pout a little when I took my hand off his cock. I leaned down and took him into my mouth as I kept thinking about it.
“Would it really make you jealous?” I suddenly asked looking up at him.
“Dude, you can’t stop sucking my dick to ask me questions like that.”
I sat up and looked at him. He looked a bit silly with his hard-on sticking out of his jeans and the rest of his clothes still on. He was holding onto the wheel like he was still driving, and I tried not to laugh.
“Did you just call me dude?” I asked.
He zipped up his pants, stuffing his cock back in, and stared at me.
“I don’t think this is working.”
“What, making out in your car?”
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