Anonymous | Writer | Thursday, 15 January 2015

Here's What Happens When Your 16-Year-Old Self Sleeps With A Random Then Discovers He's The New Sixth-Form History Teacher

The Debrief: So, exactly how does one find themselves in a torrid affair with their teacher?

It’s almost a rite of passage sleeping with someone you know you shouldn’t. Most people sleep with someone at work, their boss or someone way older. Maybe a married or attached man, knowing a girlfriend was at home somewhere wondering why they aren’t getting a text back. In a way, I’ve done all of these things by sleeping one person. My teacher.

I was sixteen and it was the summer holiday between Year 11 and Sixth Form when I first slept with – let’s call him - Mr Pepper. Some of the older girls from my weekend job were going out on a Friday and I borrowed a friend’s older sister’s ID to join them. We were already pretty drunk by the time we got to Wetherspoons. It was in the corner of the room by the fruit machines that I noticed him standing there. He was incredibly good looking, dark and handsome, late 20s-30 by my guess and brooding. I live in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and had certainly never seen him before. I asked the other girls if they knew who he was; none of them recognised him. 

After about half an hour of watching, we caught each other’s eyes. It was like electric had been shot through my core and stuck my feet to the ground. He motioned me over and I went. The other girls were so fucked they barely noticed me gone. I should have been nervous – I was only used to guys my age but this was a man. He told me he wanted to be a writer but it didn’t pay well. He’d just moved here. He didn’t have sex with his girlfriend anymore. I told him the bare minimum, lying about what would later turn out to be the big things (I said I’d just finished sixth form). 

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By the end of the night, I was going back to his. Sure, I’d had sex before. But this was different. He took off my clothes with confidence and laid me on the bed. He then proceeded to go down on me for what seemed like hours. The sex itself was very aggressive. In the morning, he was a bit sheepish. He told me his girlfriend would be back from holiday that day and suddenly I remembered her. I felt awful and made my excuses and left. 

I couldn’t think of anything else until my first lesson with him. I spent the half hour before, throwing up in the toilet

Eventually, I stopped thinking about him so much. September came around and I went back to school to start my A-Levels. In Assembly, the headmaster stood up and announced there was a new history teacher that’d joined (yeah, really…). He stood up and my stomach flipped. It was Mr Pepper. And judging by the name on my new timetable, he was going to be teaching my history for the next two years. 

I couldn’t think of anything else until my first lesson with him. I spent the half hour before, throwing up in the toilet, walking into the lesson late. When I did, his eyes met mine just as they had that night, except this time, he looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His face went completely white and trembling slightly and it took him what seemed like 20 seconds to regain some kind of composure and talk again. He didn’t ask me any questions and I didn’t look up from the desk. 

The next lesson went the same way. And the next. And the next. Until a few weeks in, when the flirting started. It was shameless. He’d call me by my last name, scorning and I’d be deliberately cheeky back, retorting to everything he said. I got the same jolt of excitement I’d had before, but twice as strong. I was aching for him in the way only a teenager crazed with hormones can. I knew it wasn’t allowed – in fact, it was completely forbidden. 

One day, he asked me to stay after class. My heart was beating out of my chest. This was everything I wanted but I remember telling myself it’d never happen now. 'Come closer,' he said. And I walked around the desks to his. He told me he wanted to sleep with me in school. That he’d thought about it since he saw me come into the classroom. He unzipped his trousers and I gave him a blowjob there and then. Anyone could have walked in. Thank fuck they didn’t. 

He’d hold my gaze across the classroom far too long, and people joked that he wanted to fuck me

It wasn’t long before we were having sex anywhere and everywhere. I’d stay after class and we’d go in his cupboard he’d emptied out especially. We’d meet down on the school fields, behind the pavilion. In the dark evenings, we’d go out in his car – parked just in the staff car park. The riskier, the better. Once, we had sex on the floor in the sports hall just minutes before Speech Day.

I was far more wary and cautious than he was. Sometimes, in fact, I thought he was downright stupid about the whole thing. He’d hold my gaze across the classroom far too long, and people joked that he wanted to fuck me. He even kept texting me during the day to meet on the fields but I had to stop him in case his girlfriend saw his phone. Instead we decided he made a fake Facebook account that we would talk dirty and arrange to meet after school or in-between lessons. I felt awful for his fiancé – but tbh, less and less with each time we slept together. Although I wasn’t in love with Mr Pepper, it felt like he was a little bit mine as well. This was obviously stupid, but at seventeen, what do you expect? 

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And then, one day in assembly, the headmaster announced that there’d been rumours of a teacher being flirty with students and vice versa and it was being looked into. This scared the shit out of both of us. But even that wouldn’t stop the sex - I loved the excitement of it, it was so much more fulfilling than anything else I’d had before.

In the end, it took an awkward out-of-school experience to make me realise how stupid I was being. It was a Saturday morning just before Christmas and I was in town with my Dad when we crossed paths with Mr Pepper and his girlfriend. My Dad waved him over, in that clumsy, chortling way only a Dad can, and forced us both to stand there, while he and Mr Pepper’s girlfriend did most of the talking. Dhe told us about their Christmas break to Finland, putting the decorations up in their house, and saving up for their wedding, all the time smiling at Mr Pepper like the sun shone out of his arse. I'll never forget that look she had. 

After that, I ignored his FB messages until they tailed off. I begged my Dad to write in to get me swapped to the other history class and I did. We never spoke again until the final day of sixth form a year and a half later when he wished me good luck with everything. 

What did I learn from sleeping with my sixth form teacher? Mostly that men are just boys; a little bit grown up, a little bit bigger but not a lot wiser. They don’t suddenly become more mature. If they don’t respect you, they’ll treat you the same – 16 or 60. Mr Pepper was just a scared, trapped little kid and I don’t hate him for taking advantage of me – if that’s even what he did. It’s a story that feels far away now - even laughable - but it’s something that I’ll think about every time someone someone even says the word 'teacher' or calls me by my last name. Everyone has their forbidden sex. Mine was just forbidden in one too many ways.

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Picture: Eylul Aslan 

Tags: Sex, Sex O\'Clock, Things You Only Know If...