Warning: NSFW content!
Every month, an anonymous STELLAR reader divulges their memories of the best (and sometimes worst) ride of their lives.
“I was 16 when Mr McCaffery* started teaching at my school. He was only 24 and it was his first teaching gig, so naturally being a young male teacher, who just so happened to be insanely cute, all the girls loved him. And he was a great teacher too; always getting the boys out of scraps, and taking extra care with the students who were struggling.
I fancied him so much. In fact, I’m pretty certain I didn’t learn anything in his class because I was too busy daydreaming about him. Anyway, my crush blew over, as teenage crushes tend to do. I started dating a guy in the year above and more or less forgot all about my feelings for him. Until nearly 10 years later…
I’d moved away after college and had finally decided to move back home, so I booked my flights, and planned a big homecoming night out with the girls. We headed to our local and there was Mr McCaffery sipping a drink at the bar. He looked different than I remembered him. There were a few more grey hairs on his head and his face had more character but he was still the same man who had taught me physics.
Spurred on by the five vodka sodas I’d had at pre-drinks I marched right up to him and introduced myself. It was a small school so I wasn’t surprised that he remembered me. What I was surprised by was how well we got on. I told him all about my adventures over in London, while he chatted about the two years he’d taken out of teaching to go traveling and regaled me with funny stories about dingy hostels and dodgy cab journeys.
I felt that familiar buzz of infatuation that I’d felt all those years ago in school and as the night wore on and his gaze got a little more intense, I was pretty certain he felt it too. Fast forward to 3am and a group of us – including myself and Mr McCaffery – have gathered in a friend’s living room to drink spirits and play tunes on a mate’s guitar.
Slowly people started filtering out until it was just he and I left alone in the room. He was chatting idly about the band he’s in when something came over me. I lunged forward and kissed him, tasting the whiskey that’s lingered on his lips, and he kissed me back deeply, putting his hand on the back of my head to pull me closer. We were unsure of ourselves at first, not quite believing that it was happening, but then we were pulling each other’s clothes off fuelled by a mix of lust and dark-coloured spirits. His body was everything I had imagined it to be; toned and athletic but not too ripped and I took a moment to drink it all in.
I initiated everything that night; pinning him to the sofa and straddling him, directing his hands on to me and managing the movement of our bodies until we’d worked our way to a heady climax. Our sweaty bodies collapsed on to the sofa afterwards, exhausted from the mix of sex and too much booze and we fell asleep naked, with just a throw to cover us.
I’d expected it to be awkward the next morning when we woke up, but weirdly it wasn’t at all. We shared a giggle about how things had escalated and reached the mutual conclusion that we’d both like to see each other again. And we did. We dated somewhat discreetly for about six weeks after that and it was fun; there was no denying we had a connection. Things eventually petered out but I still think of that night fondly. The awkward 16-year-old in me still can’t quite believe it happened.
*Name has been changed.
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