‘What was your first time like?’ The question comes out of nowhere and hovers above us in the darkness.
I turn towards him- this promises to become too much of an interesting conversation and I want to be close to him when I tell my tale. I am surprised it hasn’t come up yet; after all, it’s the kind of thing you would expect to have shared after three years.
I start pretty casually: 17, last days of school, ... the usual stuff. But then, as soon as the words ‘trainee teacher’ and ‘took me over the desk’ have left my mouth I can feel his breathing hitch and his torso move closer.
Reaching the point where I was about to come, panties and wood digging into my backside, I realise that there is a distinct movement under his side of the blanket. I stop.
‘Is that one hand clapping I can hear?’ I whisper.
I can feel his grin against my cheek. ‘Maybe...’ This time it’s my own skin that heats up.
My hand clasps over his and he groans. ‘Just don’t stop the story...’
'Yes, sir.'
When he comes over my hand, I feel nostalgic and horny.
