by Kiki Archer
The club was buzzing and Ben had spent his time perched at the neon bar clutching his pint of Bitter, something that was not often ordered in the funky gay bar. He had been marvelling at this whole new world. ‘A while, but don’t worry about it, it has been an eye opener!’
Lucy chimed in, ‘Hi, I’m Lucy and as they say the early bird catches the worm!’
He stood up, smiled cheekily and kissed her cheek. ‘Ben, hi, nice to meet you,’ he paused eyeing her excited eyes, ‘I love that saying.’
Lucy’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she puffed up with pride. Ben had spotted the group of friends entering and was intrigued by the powerful looking girl with black bobbed hair who reminded him of Catherine Zeta Jones when she played Velma Kelly in Chicago. She looked giggly and flirty and incredibly toned, with fantastic boobs; his type. He had no idea what he had been thinking last summer when he drunkenly snogged Diane Pity, the egging on from his mates and the numerous Aftershocks were his only justification; or possibly the absolute eyeful of tit she kept forcing on him. Ben thought that Diane and sidekick Fiona were nasty, no other word for it, just nasty. Neither enjoyed teaching, and they certainly didn’t care about the kids welfare or educational and emotional development like he did; just such a shame that the Head of English was Leery Old Lester who they kept happy with their highly inappropriate and really rather dirty flirting. Kat’s arrival at the start of the year had been a breath of fresh air in the often down beat staffroom. He looked over at her now and still could not believe it, she was the most strikingly beautiful women he had ever seen and what had endeared him further was the fact she had absolutely no idea just how sensational she actually was. Gutted, he thought as he saw Kat’s eyes glance shyly towards a tall brunette stood waiting at the bar; he sighed defeated and turned his attention to Lucy.
The group chatted easily and laughed frequently as the giggly club night quickly became a roaring success. Lucy and Ben hit it off like an absolute house on fire and were now embarking on their second mammoth snogging session to the smooth sound of New York by Alisha Keys. Jess and Gary were laughing and smooching on the lime green sofas and Kat was enjoying the attentions of Vicky - good looking, smart - from what she could glean from their brief first encounter - and very complimentary. She had discretely found out Vicky’s age and breathed a sigh of relief; hurdle one passed. Kat, who was so astute and on the ball in all other areas of her life, really struggled with relationships and Jess and Lucy had given her strict instructions on what to notice: ‘Is she always glancing over your shoulder? Does she look at you when you are talking? Does she listen; really listen to what you are saying? Is she kind to you?’ The list had gone on, but now with the new addition, ‘Check she is not a school girl.’
Vicky pulled Kat closer and they moved together in time with the music. To onlookers they looked incredibly sexy and erotic, but for Kat it was all about the atmosphere, the music, the dancing, and the warming feeling of another woman’s body held against her own. Vicky started to kiss her soft bare shoulder, quickly progressing to her long neck and then finding her mouth. The kiss was nice, soft, tender and warm, but not the same explosion of energy she had felt when kissing Freya. Her mind started to wander.
‘Oh ... My ... Good ... God ... Miss!’ The wail was unmistakably camp. ‘You get on my bus! How superb! I would never have guessed, but then Damien, my latest squeeze always says my Gaydar is broken, and I tell him it’s not, but now I need to text him and tell him he was right, because I had no idea Miss, not a clue. This is fab, I love you so much Miss, do you know that? You were my idol before, but now you are my...what’s better than an idol? My enigma, is that right? I’m sure you know; you know everything. Oh wow, congratulations Miss, I swear I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I am just so pleased, so thrilled.’
Vicky quietly disappeared to the bar as the perfectly tweaked, great looking lad continued his spiel.
Kat and Ben sat in a brown leather booth in the quiet area, soulful music creating the perfect atmosphere for the numerous amorous couples scattered around the room, splashes of luminous colours glowing on the black walls. Harley had soon disappeared with a new ‘soul mate’ after many over emphasised reassurances that he would be forever loyal to his favourite all time teacher.
‘He’s a good lad,’ Ben tried to sound heartening and gave Kat all of the information he knew.
Harley had come out at the start of Year Ten. He spent the first three years of Secondary School as a shy quiet boy who hid under his mop of brown hair, never drawing attention, never excelling but never underperforming. One of those students who just floated under the radar, the one whose photo reference you had to check when it came to parents evening. Then suddenly on the first day of term in Year Ten the girls in his tutor group thought they had been blessed with a new foreign exchange student, probably from Italy but maybe from one of the romantic Spanish Islands. A perfectly pruned Harley - four inches of holiday growth taller and broader, with hair fashionably styled off his face - displayed for the first time his enormous natural eyelashes and beautiful features. He waited for the questions to silence and then began, ‘Harley Adams, been in your class for three years, barely been spoken to by any of you, but now I am going to be heard. I’m Gay and proud of it.’
Gay Harley quickly became popular with the girls. His harem expanded week by week, his affectations were developed and perfected month on month and his witty banter and quick comments endeared him to most of the girls and boys in his year. Yes there were always some over confident smart arse Year Eight lads who thought it was funny to shout ‘Poofter’ as he sauntered down the corridors visualizing the runway of a Prada fashion show; but then it was the same kid who thought his mates would laugh if he shouted ‘Hairy Marys’ at the Indian girls or ‘Oi Ginger Pubes’ at the painfully shy chubby red head sat eating lunch alone. Harley was well like and justifiably so. Much of it was an act, but he would inevitably tone that down when he realised, maybe in his twenties, that people liked him for him, Harley, who just happened to be gay.
Whether it was the growing realisation that she could not reverse the events of the evening, or the numerous spritzers that had been consumed following the whirlwind that had been Harley, Kat lay quietly in bed and decided to shrug it off. She thought he probably could be trusted, but in the same respect realised that he had not asked to know her secret. Secret, she thought, that made it sound so sordid. It was not a secret but it was also not common school knowledge. Kat wondered, once again, how best to handle it. Do you stand up in the staffroom on day one and say, ‘Hi, I’m Miss Spicer the new History teacher, I like tennis, my favourite colour is red and I am gay?’ All the straight members of staff would not declare their straightness so why should she announce her lesbianism. Or do you answer honestly when the nosy Year Nine girl says, ‘You got a boyfriend Miss?’ Or do you ignore the questions and genuine interest of students and completely avoid any discussion of your personal life; which Kat thought would leave her appearing cold and unapproachable. She looked up at her sparkling bedroom ceiling glowing with tiny luminous stars; they would shine for about half an hour before slowly fading into the darkness that surrounded them. She closed her eyes, pushed her head deeper into her plush feather pillow and tried to focus. She believed that speculation was worse than truth, and had to devise a plan of action for when the inevitable questions arose; but with the loud noise from Lucy’s room she was struggling to formulate one.
Ben skilfully manoeuvred Lucy into the reverse cowgirl and they started riding each other once again. Another position, another fantastic chance to feel Ben’s enormous manhood reaching places Lucy never knew she had. She could not believe it, she was in complete heaven. Kat had failed to describe Ben’s generous good looks, the way his bushy blonde hair stuck out slightly at the sides, the way his full lips and strong chin drew your eye, how his biceps pushed against the fabric of his black short sleeved shirt. At 5ft 9 and muscly Lucy struggled to find a man who would dominate her,
overpower her and take control. Well now as Ben lifted her across to the top of her wooden chest of drawers she realised she had. She could see his firm arse in the mirror moving in and out, perfectly timed to accentuate her every pulse. She screamed, he had done it again, it was her third orgasm of the night.
Lucy had ushered Ben into the back of their taxi and told him that she was not about to get rid of the goose that laid the golden eggs, he seemed to be the only one who understood what she had meant and laughed a warm genuine laugh that made her hold his strong hand even tighter. Kat had winked as Lucy manhandled him into their apartment and she could hear them now. The rhythmic rocking followed by the dull thumping, climaxing in the hard pounding. Lucy had tried to stifle her screams but the walls between the bedrooms were paper thin and Kat could not help but picture her own sexual experiences with men, each and every one a complete and utter disaster. She lost her virginity at eighteen to her older and much more experienced boyfriend. Brett had assured her that it was the next natural step, even though nothing about their heavy petting or subsequent sexual encounters felt natural. She had pictured music, candles, petals on the bed, an experience so perfect it would make her forget her doubts and worries and realise that yes this was fantastic and exactly what she wanted. Unfortunately he had hands the size of baseball mitts, stubble that rubbed painfully against every area he was hopelessly trying to arouse and big hairy balls that Kat could barely look at, let alone cup in her mouth as he had so masterfully instructed. Brett had done the obligatory nipple tweaks, rummage around in her downstairs area and was sure she would now be ready for the real deal. He pushed his way in and after about four strokes turned her over into the doggy position to finish himself off.
‘Wasn’t that perfect babe,’ he had whispered in her ear as he cuddled her from behind.
Kat managed to say, ‘Yes,’ as she lay lifeless on her side, a slow tear running down her cheek and onto the cold pillow.
A year later it was Craig who she really believed she loved. She assumed the sex would be better, but played dead as he pumped and pumped and pumped, grinning down at her and complimenting her puppies as he stared perversely at her full breasts jiggling up and down. She had tried to switch off and grin and bear it, but when a bead of sweat dropped from his nose into her eye she had had enough. She told him to stop, simply saying, ‘Sorry it’s just not happening for me.’
Craig had asked if they could cuddle instead but Kat decided it was best if he just left and in that one instance she had morphed from thinking she loved him to never wanting to see him ever again, she was so completely and utterly put off.
She had ignored the glaringly obvious and gave it one last shot with Paul; perfect Paul. They had been dating for about two months when he suggested a night away in a posh hotel. She had never let it go any further than kissing and he assumed she was playing hard to get. He was smart, attractive, well paid, kind and honest and Kat knew if it did not work now, it never would. Everything was exact, a gorgeous room in the grounds of a leafy country hotel, expensive truffle chocolates on the pillow, champagne and strawberries ordered in advance. They started kissing on the romantic four poster bed and took things really slowly. Kat helped direct his hand, as she always had to with male partners, having learnt with Brett that not doing so resulted in many faked orgasms to bring an end to the sanding down of her delicate areas. Paul tried really hard bless him, but literally nothing was happening and when he asked for a hand to try and revive his wilting soldier she decided enough was enough.
Inevitably she started to acknowledge her inner sexual attraction to women, and when a female flatmate at Uni got into her bed one drunken night and kissed her in a way that words can still not describe Kat knew; and what followed made everything make complete sense. Sex was amazing. Sex was incredible. Sex was the most intense pleasure that all of her teenage magazines had described; only this time it wasn’t a party sausage and two hairy dumplings that she had to content with, but gorgeous curves and soft skin and warm moist openings that called for her delicate fingers. It was an experience that was repeated with a number of women over her three years of study, never cheap or meaningless, there was always that emotional connection. Kat reminisced and as silence fell from next door she slid her right hand into her pyjama bottoms; she was aroused. She closed her eyes and Freya was there, kissing her with passion, holding back her hair, finding more of her mouth.
‘Stop it.’ Kat spoke out loud to herself as she opened her eyes. She felt dirty, the student teacher boundary had always been so clear, a position of trust, a position of responsibility and consequentially a position of power. She thought of Freya and the way she presented herself in lessons, she was the powerful one, so commanding and confident; so full of life. She tried to close her eyes again and give herself what every inch of her body needed right this second; but she couldn’t. Freya’s face, with sparkling green eyes and long chestnut brown hair kept appearing. She rolled onto her stomach, shoved her hands under her pillow and told herself to, ‘Get a grip.’
Chapter 5
Kat had spent the entire rainy weekend perfecting her lesson plans. Year Eight Period One, Free Period Two, Year Seven Period Three and A - Level Period Four and Five. She had also exchanged a couple of flirty texts with Vicky, arranging to meet on Thursday evening. She seemed nice enough and Kat knew she needed to get her love life back on track; an evening in a nice wine bar, chatting and laughing and getting to know someone new was exactly what was called for. She realised the more she tried to shake Freya’s kiss from her mind the more it kept appearing; she was involuntarily re-living the experience at least once in each lesson as she glanced over at Freya who was always head down working away. A couple of times her stare had been caught and met with the mischievous green eyes holding her own for that split second too long.
Kat walked confidently down the B Block corridor, secretly hoping that she would be observed. She had experienced Ofsted on her final school placement and realised the inspectors movements were known by no one until you spotted them sat at the back of your classroom. Kat wondered if she had lipstick on her teeth when her regular smile was met with giggles from two Year Nine girls as she passed them in the Hall.
There was absolute silence in the stuffy staffroom as Head Teacher Kirsty Spaulding introduced the five Ofsted inspectors who tried their hardest to smile and look reassuring; they failed. The only staff member who seemed at ease during the falsely optimistic staff briefing was Diane Pity who shot Kat a look that she struggled to place. She was being competitive judged Kat, even though not directly named in the report it was easy to determine which teachers got which grades and Miss Pity clearly wanted to come out on top.
‘Good luck,’ spat Diane as she pushed her way out of the staffroom door at the end of the briefing.
Kat realised that it was the first time Diane had ever spoken to her directly; what a privilege she thought unfazed, tucking her detailed plans for the day under her arm, ready to embrace the challenge ahead. The inspectors had left five minutes previously and were already sat patiently in their unsuspecting victims rooms. Diane trotted down the corridor, a feat made slightly more easy than usual due to her smart, properly fitted, but rarely worn navy blue trouser suit. She had Year Thirteen A-Level English for a double period and had a choice of lesson plans depending on the inspector’s whereabouts. As she marched past Miss Phag's room she could see the chubby balding inspector take his seat. ‘R.I.P Faggy,’ she hissed under her breath.
As Diane stood at her desk triple checking for extras in her class she smiled and reached for lesson plan B.
Freya and Bea had never seen Miss Pity so enthused. She had given them the English curriculum at the start of the year and from then on it had been ‘Independent Learning’ as she liked to sell it. They were managing to cope because they were conscientious, naturally intelligent and very hard working, but poor Big Tom would be lucky to scrap an N.
‘Right,’ announced Miss Pity. ‘I thought that
given the circumstances I would meander away from the poets today and focus on a more relevant topic.’ She was relishing every word.
Freya and Bea nudged each other under the table, they had never seen anything quite like it.
‘Question....’ pause for effect. ‘What have Oscar Wilde, Truman Capote and Patricia Cornwell got in common?’ She was pontificating and highly excited.
‘Authors,’ said Bea.
Miss Pity’s room was not adorned with the usual colourful posters and displays that you would expect to see on the walls of an English teachers classroom and there were certainly no signs of students work proudly displayed for all to see, instead she had a wall dedicated to Peter Andre and a collage of photos from her tacky nights out with Miss Mews.
‘Think outside the box Bea, clarify, clarify.’ Miss Pity was doing her best teaching act. It had always been an act with her, never having that natural ability to guide and empower, to impart knowledge and create a thirst for learning; to be honest she could not really be bothered, the internet had so many great lesson plans now which included printable resources.
Freya whispered, ‘What is she doing?’ Bea was staring in disbelief, so she continued, ‘... do you think she is practicing her teaching in case she gets watched by an inspector this afternoon?’
‘I don’t know, but I know what she is getting at.’ She spoke up, ‘They are all gay Miss.’ Her tone was sharp.
Freya wondered how Bea knew this. There was so much of Bea that still remained a mystery. She had transferred to their Sixth Form from John Taylor’s last year to study Philosophy as well as English and History, a combination that her previous school could not offer. Their first meeting was one they laughed about whenever patrolling the corridors together at break on their weekly Sixth Form Community Service. Freya always thought it sounded like a punishment as opposed to a responsibility which they had been encouraged to sign up for in an effort to ensure their CV’s looked appealing on their upcoming UCAS Forms.