I used to be a teacher at a secondary school and, I like to think, a very good one. I am a good communicator and I was able to unlock the students' imaginations and work ethic through being nice, and kind. Old-fashioned values, but always effective. And it wasn't an act. I'm interested in people and at my most energised when collaborating. I left teaching five years ago, exhausted by the never-ending targets and exam factory expectations. Now, at 46, I was exploring options career-wise. Which, in short, meant I had too much time on my hands and not much coming in. My ends were being met, as my partner of five years had recently moved in. She's lovely, supportive, creative and genuine. Our relationship is good, strong, but largely sexless. It's difficult to define why. It was never prize-winning but sometime in our first year together it just seemed to dry up. Since then I'd been fighting: fighting the demon desire. I've never been unfaithful, or hadn't then, but I was constantly horny. Equally, I knew how much I'd changed for the positive since meeting Sue and I was loathe to abandon something that was so positive. A year ago an innocent friendship, largely online, had taken me to the brink of infidelity when she'd suddenly sent a topless picture through. Tempted doesn't come close. I was all over the shop - desperate for the release of the obviously promised sex, but determined not to throw away what I had. But it'd planted the seed...
Two weeks ago I went out on a leaving do for one of my former teaching colleagues. He's a good friend and I was happy to go, even though I knew I'd be faced with some colleagues I wouldn't remember and many more I'd never met.
The night started slowly but after a couple of beers I began to relax and was enjoying catching up with some old friends. One of them, an art teacher called Sarah, was talking passionately about her faculty and, as she turned to address some of her team, one of them in particular caught my interest. I didn't hear what her boss was saying but whatever it was, was bringing out a cheeky smile from my new focus. She was introduced to me as Beth and I knew two things immediately: one was that she was gorgeous, and two was that she was far too young for me. 26. Twenty years my junior. Not a problem for the Rod Stewarts of this world, but not a realistic match for someone in a provincial town in the north of England. And anyway, I was attached. An irrelevant thought.
Within minutes, the small group had thinned and I found myself alone with the charming Beth. She had shoulder-length wavy strawberry blonde hair, big, lively eyes and a winning, flirty smile. She also had on a vest top which revealed a cleavage between medium-sized perky breasts that I tried hard not to ogle. The number of times that the flirty smile appeared told me that she was at least not appalled by my age and, since I look younger than my years, I may well have presented as a viable possibility. As the others returned, talk started of a visit to a cheesy 80s bar not far away. I haven't danced for years and I certainly wouldn't have intended to rekindle that relationship at a cheese-fest. But it was Beth that was now, suddenly, persuading me. Repeated reaches across the table from her to touch my upper arm did her powers of persuasion no harm at all. At a noisy moment elsewhere she looked at me intently and said, 'I'll probably never see you again after tonight and you only live once'. Before I could fully digest the possible meanings of this enticing sentence, she stood, turned her hips towards me and said, 'plus, I'm wearing leather trousers'. With that, she gave me a winning smile, flicked her hair and made her way to the ladies, leaving me with a sudden and urgent bulge in my trousers. Yep, I was going to the 80s bar.
The next hour or so was uneventful: the walk there provided little in the way of flirting and I found myself at the bar chatting to two other old friends at first. I kept my eye on Beth though. She was already dancing freely with a friend and with an array of horny middle-aged men watching on intently. Dirty bastards...! Eventually I had reached sufficient alcohol levels and headed off to the dancefloor. My feet felt disconnected to the rest of my body and my rhythm was more staccato than andantino. Beth was still in her own little world but would occasionally reward me with eye contact and a knowing smile. Soon, a quieter corner of the dancefloor became clear and, as my confidence and rhythm gradually returned, I was able to dance her over to the quiet-zone. Immediately we got closer and were soon engaged in a playful tango, allowing me my first touch of her petite, lithe body. The firmness of her back muscles told me she was fit and the way her hand just nestled ever so gently into the waistband of my trousers told me that she was, surely, as horny as I was.
But the night never quite panned out as I had hoped. She would dance with me, another but of contact and smiley eyes but then she'd drift away, dance with others. Whilst I was desperate for her attention, I was also 46. And in a relationship. The alcohol had fuelled my confidence and arousal but had not completely removed my judgement. As the hour clicked round to 3am I realised a few things: she had started texting someone in the last hour and who else does one text in the early hours but one's love interest; she had started drinking Coke in the last hour so was clearly trying to sober herself up; I'd had a brilliant night of unexpected flirting with a gorgeous woman 20 years my junior and I was grateful for that. And I could wake up in the morning with no guilt. Perfect.
As the last few songs were played we sat together and chatted properly for the first time. And, surprise surprise, she had a partner of 11 years. Not bad for a 26 year-old. She had taken her heels off and her beautiful feet were exposed as well as her wonderful cleavage as she leant forward. Without thinking and totally honestly, I mustered, 'You are so cute'. She smiled and carried on talking. As the lights came up, the few members of our wider group gathered and we all stumbled out towards the taxi rank. Through some skilful negotiating, I organised it so that it was just Beth and I left but, since she lived many miles from me, sharing the cab was impractical. Nevertheless I was surprised and disappointed when she climbed into hers without so much as a backward glance, let alone a hug or a cheeky goodnight kiss. And then she was gone. I smiled a wistful smile. The night that had promised so little had suddenly suggested so much but had ultimately left me frustrated. But what a night! And what a boost to my ego. Beth had clearly had no intention of taking anything further but nevertheless had picked me out of a crowd of much younger men to spend her flirtatious night with. End of story.
Or so I thought. The following Tuesday saw me waking with a very bad back, to which I'm one of many millions of victims. I felt old and uninspired at the unstructured day ahead. It was raining hard so I made the decision not to walk the dog straight away and instead jumped into the bath to try to ease my back. Just as the water had stopped running and all was quiet, I heard a ping from my mobile to tell me that some new communication had arrived. I was irritated that I'd not brought my phone into the bathroom - this could have been a job offer and I knew I wouldn't settle. Bringing the bath to a premature end I saw that it was actually an email from Sarah - I'd given her my card when we talking in the first bar. After some work stuff and some niceties came the sentence that sent my pulse racing,
'What have you done to my Beth?'
Shit. What had I done? I'd had a lot to drink but I pride myself on treating people gently and with respect. What had I done? And was the shit about to hit the fan. Without pausing for thought I replied immediately,
'Jesus. I don't know. What have I done? I don't remember doing anything untoward. Is she ok?'
And then I waited. And waited. Teachers - completely bound by timetables. It was two and a half hours later that I finally got the reply. Two and a half long hours where I tried to relive every detail of the night out. Had I been grabbing her to dance when I remembered it as a mutual decision? Jesus the time passed slowly. When her reply finally came, it was not what I expected,
'Is she ok? No, not really. What have you done? Turned her world upside down. Have you done anything untoward? No but I think she wishes you had...'
What?! Am I reading this right? My stomach churned in excitement. Was this heading where I think it was heading? And why was I so completely excited? I was sober now and yet thoughts of my partner just evaporated. I had to know more,
'What does that mean...?!'
And then another huge wait. An hour passed. An hour of excitement, guilt and impatience. When a text from my partner arrived I nearly jumped out of my skin. Even then thought the guilt didn't kick in. That's only now...
Eventually when the email arrived it had a different name at the top of it. Beth. And it was from a personal, not her work, address.
'Hello.'
Holy shit!
'Hello. Sarah says you're feeling a bit out of sorts...'
'Ha! That's one way of putting it. Bastard...'
'Bastard? What have I done?'
'Messed with my head...'
'How? All I did was spend a pleasant evening with a young woman...'
'And told me I was cute...and danced with me...and bought me drinks...and made me feel...'
'Made you feel...?'
'Wanted'.
