The History Boy

I had to admit that the new history teacher looked extremely hot. It had been a long time, years in fact, since I'd seen anyone that had immediately sparked anything approaching a romantic interest from me, but this guy was extremely sexy from the start. I'd been introduced to him in the staff room and had been most impressed by his beaming grin and those eyes!

"Mark Foster, this is Julia Graham, our all-singing all-dancing performing arts teacher," said Don our head teacher.

"Hi," I said, staring straight into those almost sparkling green eyes and feeling just a bit tongue-tied.

"Call me Mark," he said taking my hand and giving just the gentlest squeeze.

Since he first came in for the interview to be a new upper school history teacher, the muscular, fair haired, motorbike-riding hottie had been the talk of the school, the female staff at least, especially after we found out he had been offered the job.

According to deputy head and close friend Carla, Mark Foster stood well over six feet tall, was finishing off his PhD thesis, was a county standard rugby player, was very nice and quite friendly-charming, dressed in style without being over the top and appeared to take very little seriously unless it was the education of children in his charge.

Mark carried his height, charm, good looks, intelligence and humour easily, and it turned out he'd done his share of supply teaching in local secondary schools until landing this job. I sat stirring my coffee and trying not to make it too obvious that he was totally captivating! I was in good company mind, as at least four others were stood with me listening, two of whom were married.

Then, as he sank his second cup of scalding hot, black Earl Grey tea with a large piece of very rough cut lemon floating in and ripped into the large bag of croissants he'd brought with him, he announced the thing that I and the other single female staff were most interested in; he was flat hunting because 'he was just out of a long term relationship'.

The married ladies in the room 'awww'ed him and you could see their maternal instincts desperate to hug him, do his laundry and make him eat mountains of comfort food, while we singlies straightened up, adjusted hemlines or bustlines and each found a reason to check our Monday morning hair and make-up and to reconsider what we had decided to wear that day.

Following that self-inspection there was a few moments where we looked around the room at what we could honestly now consider our rivals. Of the four singlies at least two of them were seeing someone on a reasonably serious basis, but their looks at Mark were enough to lead to a second, then a third look.

I'm 26, size twelve with 38 C's, brunette and single 'most of the time'; I qualify that statement as there is, or at least occasionally was, an old mate of mine from Uni' -- Joe - that was in a similar predicament.

Yes, we were sex buddies, at least we HAD been. The last time we leapt on each other was at least a year-and-a-bit before. I was expecting a text from him and didn't get one, OR I guess he might have been expecting one from me. That, or he found a girl as weird as him, or a saint that was willing to put up with his outbursts. Perhaps he might have grown up...

Nah, that's never gonna happen.

We'd met at university when I was doing my certificate in education, after my degree in performing arts. He had graduated with a degree in English and was completing his master's in business and administration, and was now working for the Education Department in one of the larger London Boroughs, writing and drafting policy from the speeches of small-time politico's, that would affect the lives of tens of thousands of children.

Fucking hell, what a thought.

Both working in the world of education, we'd text or email each other around half terms, school and bank holidays. We'd get dressed up, meet at a posh restaurant, have a great meal, a pudding with one bottle of Champagne, split the bill and then back to mine or his for a night of unbridled lust. I knew what he liked and he me.

We were only mates though; we did try a relationship at least three times and we don't get on other than in bed!

He is an emotionally wrecked (or at least claims to be) wannabe rebel that enjoys focussing on his own misery and prevaricatingly agonising over it for hours if not days (far more fun than dealing with it or moving on), while I (apparently) am a clingy, live for today, heart on my sleeve, superficial bitch.

BUT, fucking hell, me and Joe didn't half click between the sheets. So much so I had to wear panty shields in my tights just so I didn't mark my dress or worse the furniture while he struggled with his erection when we were still sitting in the restaurant, as we quietly discussed precisely what we were going to do to each other when we got to bed. We did sometimes discuss why we were having the champagne dinner and not just order a pizza to eat in bed.

He held the record for me for orgasms in one session. Two nights after our graduation ball and the end of our second attempt at a relationship, I rang him to try and sort out the huge bust up after I dared to carry on dancing once he'd reached the alcohol-fuelled point of the evening when he wanted, no 'needed' just to sit on his chair 'and talk about his feelings'.

Twat.

Anyway, I apologised, he apologised and we walked to his place with the bottle of Champagne we had been due to sort out two nights before. It turned out that one bottle was the perfect amount to reduce inhibitions, raise sensitivity and blood pressure to the point where all we wanted to do was please ourselves and each other.

That night he brought me off twice, so I made him come twice. Whatever happened, and however much we had fallen out, we knew there would be someone there that knew how to stoke the fires and then douse the flames if the other was up for it, no baggage, no strings.

I hadn't seen him in well over a year though, and we normally met for two or three evenings in that time. There was probably another woman he was shagging, one that would listen to all of his self-obsessive heartbreak bollocks.

We weren't and were never likely to be choosing rings and picking the day and I'd dated a bit, but with an occasional eye to my phone and Joe's text or email address, although I was never one to turn down the chance; my eye was somewhere else now.

I'm qualified to teach art, drama and dance -- a million miles from the cerebral and studious nature of the history department who's head was actually a one-time Oxford PhD'ed professor and I knew I'd rarely get the chance to meet him other than in the staff room; the size of the school and I suppose the relationship status of the rest of the staff meant that while we mixed socially on a reasonably regular basis, generally in pubs for Christmas and end of term parties, there was never an opportunity to 'mix' in that way.

There were also departmental house and dinner parties but they were very much a couples thing and I did feel a bit left out, being the only singlie in the entire Arts Department.

As we finished our first week of the spring term, I decided I would have to find a way to remedy that.

'Glee' had much to answer for; ever since it had screened my older classes had insisted they be allowed to perform popular music and not the stuff already planned, and more importantly, budgeted for. We couldn't do that as such as I would have struggled to get it into the curriculum, but my after-school dance/fitness club that struggled with members suddenly had twenty three girls all wanting to sing like their heroes on TV. What was dancercise became a Glee club.

"Okay," I said, "on the understanding that you actually perform it." Some of the girls had said that they would dance to the music, but I absolutely detested posers that mimed -- I said I'd let them off with karaoke but that was it -- if they wanted 'don't stop believin' then I wanted singing AND dancing!

I checked out the local book shop and found a selection audition cd's with the music books, but they looked a bit pricey and were a bit limited in scope, knowing the kids would only want to sing what they'd seen the TV stars sing, I had to keep looking.

Okay, I'll confess I bought a swing era one, but that was for me and in the car; it had some Sinatra, some Gershwin, some Hoagy and some Ella -- I promised myself that my cosy little Ford Focus would get the coolest rendition of 'Summertime' it had ever seen. Walking out of the book shop I saw my favourite 'Everything for a pound' shop that I occasionally frequented for the big bars of Cadbury's Dairy Milk Chocolate they knocked out.

A Saturday night, chic flick DVD's, Netflix or Amazon, later Sky movies, along with a bottle of red Lambrusco (the white gives me migraines), my bestie if she was at a loose end and a 400g bar of CDM (each of course) and we'd be either giggling or crying like 14-year-olds depending on the chick flick.

Tonight it was going to be Colin Firth's turn as I had promised myself an evening with Bridget Jones, all three movies, breaking after the second for one of those 40 calorie hot chocolate drinks before transferring to my bedroom and the smaller 32 inch TV for part three.

With two bars in hand (my friend Carrie had said she might come and visit) I strolled around the shelves looking at the unlikely stuff I could buy for just a pound. I will confess I bought a new cover for my smart phone, exactly the same as the one I'd bought with the phone four months before and had cost me £18, and a similar one with a strap for when I was running or working out. Then, as I cruised towards the checkout, I saw a stack of CD box sets. There it was.

Of course there was no way the word 'Glee' could be used, but the blurb referred to the nature of the CD's and that you could 'host your own delightful party with your high school buddies and sing these classic pop tunes!' The cover had a mixture of beaming older-looking teens shouting at microphones, half of the girls dressed as cheerleaders, and most of the boys in baseball shirts, basketball vests and letterman jackets. It had 120 karaoke tunes, with a couple of CD's for each decade, from the 50'/60's, through disco until the present day. They wanted £3.99 for it rather than the usual £1, but it was still a bargain.

So, after driving home and belting out 'Summertime' as I had promised myself, I arrived in time to dig out, cook and eat a portion of my home made, defrosted lasagne, run a hot bath and soak in it with my first glass of Lambrusco and the first Bridget book, then pink fluffy PJ's and slump in front of the 42" plasma in the company of Renee, Colin and Hugh just as Carrie knocked on the door similarly attired and with an extra two bottles of the lambro.

We 'mwahed' cheeks in our usual loud, over-enthusiastic fashion and settled in, lights off, an end of the big sofa each with chocolate and wine; it was perfect and something Carrie and I did at least once a month, sometimes more. To be fair, the following morning we did both head out to the gym and try to work off the 400g of cocoa solids, sugar, milk and cocoa butter we did for the night before.

Tonight, as we headed for my bedroom for the third movie, I asked how her Fiancé Steve was doing. "Starting to flap a bit as the end of the season gets closer. Tonight he's away to Basingstoke." Carrie said trying to sound excited,

"Still committed?"

"He bloody should be, he comes home battered and bruised enough, and that's just from training.

Still, it's nice that it gives us a chance to hang." She had an open invite to my place if his away games involved an overnight stay or him being really late back.

"Yeah," I grinned. We had been best mates since university, and had done all of the things girlie best mates do. Romantic advice and/or commiseration, holidays, festivals, nights out, lunches, the whole thing. I was pleased because even though Carrie and Steve had bought a house together, were saving up for 'that day' and Carrie confessed to getting misty eyed walking past Mothercare, she still had room in her life for me, and I was eternally grateful.

"We'll get the summer off mind you," she sighed -- the Rugby season kind of petered out in June, "Nothing going on with you?" she asked.

I shook my head,

"Still looking honey," I said, breaking eye contact, "still looking,"

"Do you know Julia, one Saturday night I'm going to knock your door and you'll come to it half-dressed, your lipstick smeared and your hair in a mess, holding your blouse together so I can't see that your bra is undone."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," she smiled as she opened the bathroom door, "and I for one will hand you the booze, kiss one pink cheek, wish you the best of luck and head home extremely happily."

"Well, we'll just both have to look forward to that day won't we." I smiled heading into the bedroom trying not to spill hot chocolate on the light carpet.

"And still nothing from our mutual friend and reprobate, Joseph of Amateurea?"

Like me, Carrie had known Joe through Uni' and a few years of our 'situationship', but thought him an immature, self-obsessed prick that didn't really need to talk about his feelings. After the same drunken graduation party that he'd howled out his misery, she'd suggested that a few slaps around the face and some hard work like the normal people did, would sort him right out. He almost cried (without tears of course) and accused her of being a heartless bitch, she patted his cheek and said that as soon as he finished his fucking period, he'd be right as rain, and they could go shopping together.

The worse of it was, she was totally right of course; he was a serious dickhead.

"Nothing since Christmas, the year before last."

"Good," she said with a grin, "You can do without that prick in your life."

"It was only his prick I ever got," I said.

"Yeah, but it was what that prick was attached to Babes," she giggled with a very real frown, "Nah, fuck him."

"Chance would be a fine thing!" I hissed.

We laughed and settled down for the next movie.

I woke up at about two AM to use the loo, and turned off the TV showing the Sky movies menu for the film that must have been playing to itself for at least an hour. I got back into bed and Carrie groaned rolling to one side to snuggle spoon-like into my back, one hand sneaking round to grasp my boob -- nothing pervy or lipsticky, just something we both did and had done over the many nights we had shared a bed.

The next morning, we both came round at the usual schoolteacher half six/quarter to seven timeframe that it was just too hard to break out of. We lay and chatted for a few moments, watching the TV news and commenting on what had happened in the last eight hours. She went into the bathroom, I went to the kitchen.

Tea, muesli, orange juice, Observer, then sports bra, T-shirt and Lycra trousers, to the gym with Carrie looking a perfect hourglass, well more perfect than me anyway; at least I thought so. Carrie would claim otherwise of course, that MY hourglass was perfect, while her arse was too big.

She looked at all the single blokes in the place and said in a just too loud whisper, "what about him?"

Two hours and a swim later we were sat in Costa Coffee both chuckling over our Paninis at the embarrassment she had tried to cause me; she said about how concerned she was that my recent dating history was so poor.

"History?" I said, "Now that reminds me, there's this new boy at my school,"

"Boy?" she interrupted.

"Alright, I was being lyrical, I'm an artist, it's allowed. Anyway, he's a history teacher, he has the most wonderful green eyes."

"Right..." she said expectantly.

"He's single, has just started at my school after a couple of years of supply, you'll like him - he plays rugby."

"And..."

"And what?" I said simply.

"And why, if there's this attractive, obviously single, green-eyed, rugby-playing history teacher at your school, did I come to your door last night and not get turned away by you with blouse hanging off, your bra undone, lipstick smeared and your hair in a mess?" she stared at me over her latte.

"I've only known him a week," I said, "give me time,"

"Okay," she said sternly, giving me the disapproving older sister look she is so good at, "I just need you to make some more effort; right, how about we say you will have invited him to dinner before the end of the month?" she said sounding like she was setting me a performance target for coursework.

"Wh... what?" I said,

"Julia, I've known you for too long and when I hear you breathlessly talk about the colour of his eyes and where he's moved from, it lets me know that you have more than a passing interest. M. T. H. Miss Graham, M. T. H."

M. T. H -- unwritten teacher shorthand, 'must try harder...'

Monday morning and I was back in the staff room watching him from across the room with his usual attending group of ladies. I was trying to get my laptop to connect to the school Wi-Fi so I could open my emails. I had sent myself the track list of the karaoke CD and was going to run it past the kids. I swore under my breath as the thing detected at least six wireless network connections and struggled to connect to 'Jimwi-fi' as it was the most powerful signal. The school signal, being broadcast not ten metres from where I sat remained annoyingly unavailable.

"It's a pain isn't it," said a voice. I looked up and those fantastic green eyes looked down at me.

"Hi," I managed to stutter, a big smile creasing across my face in unconscious response to his.

"I tried logging in on Friday, ended up logging on that one," Mark pointed at my screen and crouched down to whisper in my ear, "his password is well thought out and technical -- 'Jimwifi' -- reckon he must work for the government."

I tapped the code, and it went live. I entered my Hotmail account and the CD list was whizzing to the Wi-Fi printer not ten feet from me. Mark stepped across and lifted the pages from the tray and passed them to me.

"Thanks Mark," I said, still desperately thinking of a way I could start a meaningful conversation with him before the bell went to start the day.

"Wow, blast from the past Julia, some crackers there right enough."

"It's for my after-school club, they all have the 'Glee' bug, and want to do some singing."

"No school band then?" he said, "that's proper Glee that is."

I sighed,

"Not really," I replied keen to keep the conversation going, "sometimes Paul Conroy," I pointed at a teacher talking to the head, "he teaches Physics by the way, he plays the guitar, and they dig out a semi-talented drummer and the best piano player and put a small trio together, only assembly stuff really."

Mark opened his mouth to speak when the head stood up and announced that the bell was to ring in two minutes. We all stood and headed for our classrooms.

"Perhaps I'll see you lunchtime," Mark said,

"I'll look forward to it," I replied, instantly regretting my forwardness. He beamed me that huge smile letting me know that it was OK. He was an extremely attractive bloke and I guessed that he must have had women coming on to him all the time.

I noticed that as he headed off to the east side of the complex of buildings that was our school, he was chatting with Paul the guitar-playing physics teacher.

Later that lunchtime we met again and he asked when the Glee Club was meeting.

"Wednesday evening after school," I said, "fancy singing?"

"Hell no, I'm a reasonable bass player, but not much of a singer."

"OK, well we start at three thirty, come along."

I thought nothing of it and we passed in the corridor and the staff room and at lunch the next day and he was rather being monopolised by some of the other female staff. I made eye contact with him and smiled, he smiled back, tapping his wrist watch.

I looked at him quizzically, then he made the sign of clock hands, three-thirty, he was coming to Glee Club!

I will confess I had some tiny butterflies in my tummy that afternoon, thinking about the hot history teacher and after the bell had finally gone and the kids dispersed I made it to the main hall with my host of girls of all ages following me, it was to find both him and Paul with school guitars and some amplifiers and the school drum kit, with one of the quieter year ten's sat behind it, his long hair hanging over his face.

"That's Ben Lee, Miss," said one of the girls, "He's in 10B, bit of a metal head."

"Dave Grohl was a long-haired, 'metal head' drummer when he first started Ellie," I said, seeing the quite strong features just pointing out from under his long, clean hair.

"Yeah, well when Ben is headlining at Glastonbury, I'll be first in the queue Miss!" Her mates giggled.

From nowhere came the loud bass riff, dub-a-dum-dum-dum, Da-dum-dum-dah-dee-dum, obvious as 'Another one bites the dust,' by Queen and after a few choruses, Ben started a gentle patter on the high hat with a thump-thump-thump of the bass drum keeping them all in time, Paul was the last to join in with a heavily effected screech and rhythm that would have made Brian May smile at the very least.

The band played along and some very basic syncopation started among the girls and before I knew it they were in a line and all dancing in a quite individualistic way, with an added lazy finger snap on the second and fourth beat. I ushered the girls, and within minutes they were in line and in time.

I turned to Mark who was now looking at me as he played along and nodded mouthing 'this time' to me, and he hit the strings just a bit harder. I conducted my new choir getting them all, almost to come in on time singing "Another one bites the dust" swiftly followed by "and another one down and another one down, another one bites the dust".

With their varying quality of singing voices and dancing technique it was still bloody amazing and I shouted them through my additions to their improvised dance steps, calling out moves that they had learned for other songs and in moments it really was like 'Glee' and I was stunned.

The impromptu band went through the song for about ten minutes without actually stopping, until I asked Mark and Paul if they could stop, restart and let the girls have a solid run-through.

Equally stunned were the five staff members stood by the hall door watching, including Don the head, and my mate Sally who happened to be guitarist Paul's wife. All were stood in open-mouthed shock as the live music rocked the school hall with all the girls singing a lyric the entire world knew with a simple melody that the three musicians knew well and the confidence it gave just leapt out.

At the end of the song there was a universal deep breath that the whole room took and a rolling grin that went from my face through every girl, our three bandsmen and our tiny audience now added to by a couple more staff members and one of the cleaning staff who applauded loudly.

"Take a bow ladies," I said indicating across to their audience, "you all earned it!"

They bowed and I pointed across to the bandsmen who, in the way of hardcore rockers, pretended not to even notice.

"Well ladies!" said Don walking across the hall, "that was fantastic, final rehearsal?"

"First rehearsal actually Mr Roberts!"

"What?"

"A quality band, headmaster," I pointed again, and young Ben stood and bowed slightly.

"Well perhaps a couple more rehearsals and a live performance before the school a fortnight Friday before half term?"

"Ladies?" I looked at the gang and they smiled and nodded.

We ran through it a few more times adding a few claps and finger clicks, and even discussed what they were going to wear.

It was the most fun the Glee club had ever had -- up until that point; our band worked up a few more songs and the Glee Club worked on dance moves and their singing, which was amazing. A couple of boyfriends arrived to watch and were nagged into singing.

Seeing my big chance, and breaking out my pound shop CD, I handed the case to a young man stood by the player, and with that confidence common to young people with tech, he'd selected 'Don't stop believing', switched on the microphone, and with the lyrics on the CD cover, went on to sing it faultlessly, and to rapturous applause. He had to do it a second and third time, while his mostly female classmates danced around him.

Thanks to him, in weeks, the club had tripled in size, and became part of school legend.

Mark and Paul were able to hand their school guitars over to teenage players, with the CD there for the more complicated tunes, and on Mr Foster's advice, drummer Ben got his hair cut, eased away from death metal and asked Ellie to be his date for his Prom later the next year, and she said yes.

At lunch, the day after our initial 'Another one bites the dust' success, the moment was being talked about at length, and while few there had seen or heard it, everyone was talking.

Queueing with the upper school children, and I was pleased to see that Mark was a few feet in front of me. He was absolutely surrounded by boys and girls, all trying to chat with him at once.

Mark was new, funny and stylish and instantaneously had that 'cool teacher' thing that many aspire to but rarely achieve. Their subjects ranged from his favourite football team (Portsmouth it turned out), what car he drove, (he had a motorbike) and did he like Lady GaGa's latest. He said she was talented but weird. They all laughed at that.

Almost every one of the thirty odd kids began to pester him about this band or that, did he like thrash, Goth, death metal, rock, dance, trance, techno, house, garage or girl bands. He retreated to our dining area promising to talk to them after his lunch. I sat at one of the large 'staff only' tables segregated from the rest of the hall and the pupils by tall screens.

"Bloody hell," he said taking a seat opposite me. I was secretly very pleased! "Didn't think I was going to get away with my life there."

"Cool teacher," I said, "Now you've gone and done it."

"What?" he grinned across his fork of salad semi-accusingly.

"Sadly you have acquired cool teacher status, they'll all want to be seen chatting to you."

"Bugger," he said.

"You need to watch some of the cleverer ones," I warned him, "whatever you say to them now will be tweeted or on Facebook by the time they've sat down."

"What?" he looked surprised.

"One in three of my tutor group has an iPhone, the rest have smartphones, look." I pointed through the gap across the dining room and half of the diners staring at their phones. "The boss says they can switch them on at lunchtime; be careful how you bend over, straighten your tie or look at a pupil or colleague. Any good joke you make will be texted around the building within minutes, any cock-up will become school knowledge within seconds."

"Shit," he said, "never realised what a scary place it was." He dipped his fork into a pile of pasta, "Mind you, chances are it probably went on at my last schools, but I was too stupid to realise." The forkful travelled to his mouth, and he grinned as it passed his lips.

"How's the house hunting going," I said.

"Still nothing," he said, "I'm in a crappy but cheap B&B while my ex tries to raise the money to buy me out of the house we shared."

"I'm sorry," I said, "it must be very difficult."

"Yeah," he said wistfully, "I think she was expecting me to give it to her, but as far as I'm concerned I have my £30K savings plus another £30K in equity due to me -- we were close, but not that close at the end."

"It must be hell."

"We parted as friends," he said, "we had that at least; still," he grinned, "new house, new friends, new opportunities, at least that's what everyone says to me."

"Yeah," I replied, "But doesn't it piss you off that it's always the ones in settled relationships with someone to go home to that say that kind of thing."

"Yeah," he giggled, "You're right, it always is."

"My best mate is just like that," I said, "She keeps giving me all the benefits of being single while still nagging me about finding someone."

He ate another large forkful of pasta,

"I never thought that I'd be grateful for school catering that's for sure. My landlady can't cook for shit... sorry," he said, looking around him and any teenage lip-readers that might have been there, "she has one menu, and I stopped eating it on my second trip through. I eat lunch here and just have a snack in the evenings. It saves me about fifty quid a week as well."

Carrie's words leapt out of my memory and punched me between my metaphorical eyes.

"Mind you, cooking for one is a pain as well, I'm sick of ready meals, even the ones I cook. Frozen lasagne, frozen shepherd's pie, Bolognese..." I raised my fork, much like his.

"My main failing is fast food because it actually works out just as cheap and tastes nice, I have a fridge in my room, costs me extra by the way, for my milk and things like that and I sneak nice stuff into it."

"Have you done your first entire cake or gateau yet?" I smiled, sipping my orange juice.

"Sunday," he said his lovely face breaking into a grin he couldn't hide, "Iceland, Black Forest gateau, twelve portion, two nights. Had every intention of making it last the week, guilty as charged Mam. It's like being a bloody student again."

I laughed, and stared up at the ceiling in thought,

"Throwing milk away because it works out so cheap to buy four-pint containers." I could feel my cheeks burning.

"Yep," he giggled, "Oh, and eating toast not sandwiches because you only keep bread in the freezer."

I giggled too, here goes nothing.

"Mark, would you like to come round to mine one evening, for a meal I mean?"

"Yes," he said with a genuine and grateful smile, "yes please, I'd love to."

I couldn't hide my smile, "Lovely!" I grinned, "Any particular night suit you?"

"Any night except Wednesday," he said, "Rugby training."

"Great," I said, "Friday?"

"Ah," he said, "I can't do Friday, I'm out for the evening, any other night would be great."

I feared one of those 'having to make him think of a reason why he couldn't do any other night' discussions, so I said, "tonight at seven?"

"Perfect," he said, "I'll bring the sweet course, shall I?"

I had some more arranging to do and headed back for my classroom, stopping to chat with another colleague about some work we were doing in partnership the week after, and I looked down the corridor and saw Mark chatting with someone else from the History department. Jasmine, or Jazz for short.

She was in the same department as Mark and I could see she had really put the effort in since our initial meeting the week before. Jazz was skinny, and had a thing for short skirts, or long tops over thick tights or leggings, very proud of her arse and in the last few days the skirts had just got shorter, and she had gone mad with the make-up. Don't get me wrong it was very well done, and her powdered face showed off her ruby red lips that seemed rather poutier whenever Mark was around.

She was very smiley with him, and I could see was really getting in close to him, right into his personal space in fact, especially when he had no opportunity to reverse out of it. I will confess to being very jealous and despite our pleasant lunchtime chat and his playing music for me... well the Glee Club actually, I did feel a bit down and I could see his visit and dinner at my place drifting into his 'Friendzone' as he had an almost daily contact with the pretty and sexy Jazz who was really going for it, slightly too much for school premises if you ask me.

Anyway, whether I was to be consigned to the 'Friendzone' or not, I cooked a roast dinner, nothing spectacular in fact, much of it was from the shelves of Sainsburys and took no preparation other than working out all the times stuff had to go in and be plated up. Of course there was enough for four and I plated two extra dinners and wrapped them in cling film for the inevitable two minute blast in the microwave.

He arrived looking extremely hot in jeans and a t-shirt, and I had just had the chance to change into something similar. I noticed him quickly checking me out in the same way that I had to him, paying particular attention to my arse, which many have told me is my best feature, and my jeans were my favourite ones that showed it to its best advantage.

As promised, he was carrying a box with (you guessed it) a Black Forest Gateau.

I grinned and opened the box putting the large chocolate and cream monstrosity onto a plate so it could thaw.

"Come through," I said, and led him through to the kitchen diner that was the best I could do in my small flat.

He followed me and I hoped that my arse was looking its best. We went into the kitchen, and I pulled out a seat on my tiny dining room table and he slid into it. I already had a bottle of wine open and poured him a glass. He sipped his wine, then looked across the small table at me.

"This is a nice place Jules," he said using the name he went on to use just for me.

"I like it," I said, "two bedrooms, large bathroom, all that kind of thing."

"Nice," he said, "the sort of thing I'm looking for, soon as I get some money back from the ex."

"Must be awful," I said, "knowing you have the cash but not being able to get to any of it."

"Yeah," he said taking a sip from his wine glass, "it's like having your hands tied. Saw this really nice place two days ago on the net; was going to go and have a look but it has three offers on it already. The ex' can't even confirm when she's likely to either raise me the cash or sell our old place."

"That's awful," I said.

"It's a bastard," he said, "sorry, pardon my language... but it actually is."

"I can imagine," I said giggling at his swearing, "will it be expensive if you have to use the law?"

"No," he said with a sideways grin, "my sister is a solicitor and is already writing the letters I need to send and has the three estate agent quotes for selling it. I'm quietly hopeful."

I had a strange thought and needed to spit it out,

"Do you think she wants you back and is using it as a ploy?"

"Good God no," he said with narrowed eyes, "it had been going downhill for some time and it was her suggestion we split up. I said I'd have the upstairs and she have the down for a few months while we got the place sold, but she said she wanted to move on." He had a strange look in his eye. "My sister was convinced she had someone new that she wanted to move in, but to my knowledge she still hasn't. She was always happy in her own company. Strange girl." He sipped some of his wine and put down his glass. "If I'm honest, I don't think she ever considered it a relationship, it was more of a business partnership so she could get on the property ladder. We bought an old house, improved it and now she'll have enough with her half to make a down payment on her own place.

The biggest pain is I'm starting to cut into what's left of my savings having to pay rent with nothing to show for it. I'm in bed and breakfast at the moment, and I hate it and the ex knows, but it doesn't worry her."

"Revenge?" I postulated sitting opposite him now.

"No, I don't think so;" he said looking quite intense. "I think that she wants to realise the most profit for her investment and the fact that it's costing me is calculated but less important. She'll be working on the fact that I earn more than her -- I bet she has a spreadsheet telling her at precisely what point I'm cutting into my element of the property value rather than my bank balance." He took a long sup from his wine glass, looked at the bottle and nodded, "as I said," he topped up his glass then mine, "strange girl."

I leaned back, opened the fridge and brought out two prawn cocktails I'd previously prepared, and placed one in front of him and another in front of me.

"Starters, bloody hell Jules, don't spoil me mate,"

I sat down and we clinked glasses and we began our meal, as quickly as that.

We ate pretty much in silence, just the occasional pleased 'Mmmm' sound from him.

Once we finished, I stood and cleared the two small bowls and Mark refilled the wine glasses. With a proud flourish I took two plates from the oven and put one at each setting. It was all pre-prepared but it all worked. There was roast beef, roast potatoes, vegetables, stuffing, the whole works, almost.

"Wow Jules," he said, "this looks fantastic."

"I try," I said pouring boiling water onto the gravy granules. "There," I said putting the Pyrex jug on the table between us, and added the final touch, a plate of freshly cooked (albeit from frozen) Yorkshire puddings.

We began to eat, but still maintained some light chatter.

"Real food," he groaned, "and not cooked by my mother!" he punched the air, "I only wish I could reciprocate," he sipped some wine ecstatically, "Tell you what, dinner, Saturday, my treat;" he grinned, "only you'll have to tell me where the good restaurants are..." he finished on a whisper.

This was looking good, and I could almost hear myself telling Carrie to come round especially, so I could send her on her way with my blouse buttons askew, bra undone, my lipstick smeared and my hair in a mess.

"All in the town centre," I said, "although last time I went there with my bestie, we were constantly bumping into our ex-pupils or a group of our current pupils looking older than we did." Mark giggled. I sipped my wine, "and you know the worst of it? Niamh Palmer in Eleven B?" He thought about it, then nodded grinning.

"Blonde, always well made-up? Always has a gang of hangers-on around her?"

"That's her; well we were in Ravello's and she walked in with a load of mates; I tried not to notice her, especially as we both had the same top, her boobs looked waaay better than mine!"

We both laughed, but I noticed he was checking out my boobs in my best bra in the fitted top I'd chosen.

"Jules?" he said with a grin, looking obviously at my breasts, "I find that very hard to believe..."

I felt my cheeks flush, but then I'd started this,

"She was definitely padded," I said quickly, "bitch... at least this is all me," putting down my knife and fork, I brushed my hands down my sides giving it my sophisticated, 21st century girl impression.

"Well," he said, "I somehow doubt she'll be at The Marquis of Granby tomorrow night, will she?"

The Marquis was a big pub walking distance from my flat and popular for the live music they had there.

"I doubt it," I said with narrowed eyes.

"Come along," he said, "my band is playing there tomorrow night,"

THAT'S why he couldn't come to my place on a Friday!

"Love to," I said, "What kind of stuff do you play?"

"We're a covers' band," he said, "We're described as good time rock, come along, it'll be great."

"I shall," I said, "What time?"

"We'll start playing around nine, so a little bit before."

"I'll be there," I said and took another sip of wine touching my glass to his.

We finished our main course and nothing else was left but the BFG now defrosted on my kitchen worktop.

We both stood and Mark reached into the drawer where he found a large knife, and taking the two bowls I'd put out for the purpose, cut two rather generous portions of gateau and carefully laid one in each.

We sat down and began to eat. It was great, and I was soon full. I suggested coffee and Mark beamed a smile at me nodding. We both stood and without any indication from me, he cleared the last of the plates into my small dishwasher, while I got the coffee,

"Let's take this through to the sofa," I said, indicating the few feet to my sitting room.

"Cool," he said looking at his watch, "there's the new Bond film just about to start, have you seen it?"

I hadn't; not having someone to go to the cinema with you understand.

On a tiny stand on the counter was my ukulele that I'd bought years ago, just an attempt to try and play an instrument having totally failed in the standard schoolteacher favourite of the piano.

"Do you play Jules?"

I grinned sheepishly,

"A tiny bit, I can play 'something in the way she moves' but that's all." I admitted, "I'm actually more of a singer."

"Really!" he said with a grin, opening the fridge and handing me the milk.

"I love Sinatra, Ella, the Brat pack, all that kind of thing. I bought myself a swing era karaoke CD a couple of weeks back and have been belting out some crackers driving to school in the morning."

"Excellent," he said taking his mug from me, "is this the one?" He picked up the CD from the edge of the counter and the player it was currently in; like with most of my CD's I'd burned it on to my laptop then copied it to my phone which blue toothed to the car stereo. "there's some great stuff on here, which is your favourite?"

"What do you mean?"

"Which one do you have on repeat, that you just have to keep re-singing!?"

I grinned, he'd read me like a book,

"That old devil called love," I said feeling my cheeks burn, "its one of my Dad's favourites and I kinda grew up with it." I put down my mug and closed my eyes,

"It's that ol' devil called love again,

Gets behind me and keeps giving me that shove again,

Putting rain in my eyes,

tears in my dreams,

And rocks in my heart."

I sang and when I opened my eyes it was to see him beaming at me and looking very impressed.

"Wow Jules, that was bloody marvellous!"

I giggled and thanked him picking up my mug and indicating we should go and sit down. I took up my usual space in the corner of the sofa, stretching my legs out in front of me onto the matching footrest that came with my suite, hugging my cup and to my glee Mark sat next to me and kicking off his trainers put his legs up next to mine.

The film, like all Bond films, was excellent and at the ad break we both made for the bathroom. While I was in there first (Mark was of course a gentleman) he made more coffee, and I took both mugs through for the next part of the film. When Mark came back, he was carrying two plates, with further, smaller, pieces of the gateau. He stopped at my framed degree and masters certificates.

He looked,

"Your second initial," he said -- it was an A -- "with the first name Julia it must be Anne."

"No," I said, not making eye contact, "it's not Anne." I really didn't want to tell him! There was a pause. "It's..." I paused again, "it's Amanda..."

"Do I take it, you don't like it?"

"It's my Mum's name, and she has been a lifelong Mandy, and my maternal relatives always called me Julie-Mand, and I really didn't like it."

"Well Julia Amanda, you think you have problems, I'm Mark Anthony..."

"Okay Mark, I'll let you have that one."

He handed my plate to me and sat down, and just in time the news finished, the movie restarted, both of us purring at the gateau.

"We don't have to do the whole thing in tonight, Jules, but..."

"Shame to waste it," I said tackling another big spoonful.

We giggled, both with mouthfuls of creamy sponge cake.

We sat, finished the wine, the movie and finally, you guessed it, the cake.

At the conclusion of the film, I was sat with my hands on my normally flat tummy and my feet on Mark's legs, and the empty plate on the floor before us with the two spoons that we'd attacked it with rather than cut our third slices.

"Oh Mark!" I groaned, "Why did I let you talk me into eating half a gateau!"

"Sorry Jules, you didn't take that much convincing mate," he said, looking like he wanted to undo the button on his jeans. "We're still singlies at heart Jules, you see. Tomorrow you'll be having toast for breakfast and then a school dinner because you can't be bothered to make frozen sandwiches for lunch again."

"You could be right," I said, "and besides which, BFG is still bloody nice however many days you manage to make it last."

We chatted and laughed until the clock was pushing towards midnight.

"Thank you so much for a fantastic evening, Jules," he said, "I will really take you out to dinner, honest."

"That would be lovely, if you don't find anywhere to live before next week, how about we do this again?"

"Great," he said with a genuine smile. At the door, he stopped and I prepared for one of 'those' kisses -- a jolly cheek touching 'mwah' that suggested we were both great friends; instead Mark took my hand held it gently and kissed it.

"Lovely Jules," he said bowing, his motorcycle crash helmet pinched around the top of his head, "until tomorrow and our next meeting. In the meantime, may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." He kissed my hand once more, I was pleased that the semi-darkness of my hallway hid my blushes again.

We met In the staffroom the next morning,

"Jules!"

"Mark!"

We had a cup of tea and discussed our work for the day, heading off to our classes. At lunch we sat together with a few colleagues and Mark discussed his gig that night.

"We should all come!" called out another of the single female teachers, and the cry was taken up, 'yeah, let's have a night out,' 'Do we need our earplugs?' said a comedian.

Shit. Of the other two women both looking excited, one was bloody Jazz again. Still blonde, thin, vivacious, with great clothes - everything for a normal girl like me to hate; although I did have curves which was more than Jazz did.

Mark shrugged his shoulders and said that they should head for the Marquis for about nine o'clock, turning to me and mouthing 'twenty-five to'. A couple of the older teachers noticed this and gently nudged me but to their praise, said nothing.

The last bell sounded, and we all closed down our classrooms and a few of us said that we'd all meet again at the Marquis that evening. As I drove to the main gate, I noticed Mark pull up next to me on his bike. He flipped up the front of his crash helmet,

"Could I ask a favour Jules?"

"Of course," I said.

"Don't suppose I could get changed at your place, could I? Rather than go to that bloody B&B, I was going to get showered and changed here but... well the footballers are training for the semi-final tomorrow, and will be here 'til eight, and I don't particularly want to share the changing rooms with them."

"Of course," I said, "follow me back."

"Excellent," he said, "tell you what, why don't I get tea?"

"Deal," I said, "I'll have the coffee ready for when you arrive."

Twenty minutes later, and a rather rushed tidy up for me, he arrived at my front door carrying an overnight bag and a large carrier bag of takeaway food. It was Chinese, my all-time favourite.

"Wow!" he said looking at my beaming grin, "I'll buy you Chinese food again!"

I giggled, and tried to hide my embarrassment, but settled to turn my red face to the cupboard as I got out two plates and we dished up the veritable feast, and fantastic it was too.

"You do realise that this doesn't count as your meal Mark?" I purred to him, wanting him to know that I wanted whatever we had going on here, to go further.

He stopped midway through a pancake roll, then grinned in realisation, nodding.

After the meal, we had a chance to sit and relax for half an hour. Eventually, I stood and asked him if he wanted to shower first or second.

"I'll go after you Jules," he said, "ladies first in all things."

"Well help yourself to another coffee, you know where everything is." I headed for the bathroom grabbing an extra towel I could wrap around myself for my usually naked journey between bathroom and bedroom.

Even though I was going with jeans that night, I still shaved my legs and underarms, even going so far as to tidy up around my lady parts. Conscious that Mark would be in here straight after me I made sure there were no stray hairs in the bath or the plug.

I stepped out of the bathroom in just my two towels, one around my head, one around MOST of my body and walked to the living room pulling the towel from my head and giving it a good shake, bending forward so he had some view of the cleavage that I had and Jazz didn't!

"All ready Mark," I said, "if you need another towel, let me know. You can get changed in the spare room, here." I pushed open the door to my second, smaller bedroom.

"Wonderful," he said with a very genuine smile, and I was pretty sure it was because there was a pretty, almost-naked-except-for-a-towel, girl before him.

Besides my semi-nakedness, the showering and changing passed uneventfully and very soon we were walking to the Marquis, at the first road crossing he took my hand, and held onto it until we stepped through the large double doors at the pub.

Inside we found his friends putting the collection of band stuff together on the small stage at the back of the pub. Mark was greeted by cheers, and some good natured calling about his being last on the scene.

"Guys, I can only apologise," he said, "but it's thanks to my good friend Jules here that I'm not even later!" Soon his band mates were descending on us and demanding all sorts of information about what Mark had been up to. They soon started to discuss a last-minute song and chord changes, and tone and beat and all sorts of musical things like that, so I smiled and took a step back and went and got Mark and I drinks at the bar.

Mark set up his huge amplifier and plugged in his large black bass guitar, a Fender, way posher than the one he'd used at school; the second he plugged it in it started to growl angrily. He tuned it easily, and soon his colleagues were plugging in their guitars and sitting behind keyboard and drum kit.

It was still a good half hour before they were due to start for real, and this was just a sound check.

The drummer leaned across his kit,

"Let's do one special for Mark and Jules..." and with that he looked at the guitar player and grinned, "One, two, three four..." and before I knew it they were into 'sex on fire' and despite myself I blushed!

They played it brilliantly, occasionally moving to their amplifiers changing the sound here and there. At the end of the song they pronounced themselves happy with the sound and switched off and went back to the bar.

"Sorry about that," said Mark, "they can be a bit playful at times."

I blushed again,

"Don't worry," I said, "I'm impressed they thought we might have been."

He stepped closer to me and whispered an exclamation, "You... I mean..."

I realised that what had been internal dialogue was out there and he'd heard me over the din in the pub.

"Sorry," I flustered, "I meant..." I moved closer, "I meant I was impressed they thought I might have been... in bed with someone as hot as you I mean." I tilted my head a bit just to look cute.

"Bloody hell Jules," he grinned, "I think it's rather the other way," he turned to look at both of us in the full length mirrors the walls were covered with, "look at you, you're... you're bloody gorgeous!"

I leant forward and kissed him, his band mates turned, looked, looked away, no problem. He kissed me back gently holding me around my waist.

"Nice," he said beaming at me, "can we explore this in more detail after the gig?"

As he said this, I heard the familiar half scream-half cackle that passed for a laugh with Jazz.

"Oh yeah," I said, "please."

Before we knew it, there were half a dozen colleagues from work in various types of Friday night clothing, ranging from jeans and T's to Jazz in her slutty best; sorry for me being bitchy but for a thirty-something (She told people she was 28 since 29 year old Mark had arrived) she looked fucking ridiculous. She had a stretchy black dress that barely covered her arse covered in tiny panties. The makeup was appalling and must have been designed to make her stand out, and that it did.

Mark grinned when he saw her. She was with another girl in a similar stretchy black dress, and they were obviously mates, and obviously already pissed.

"Hi Mark," she purred, looking him up and down, spoiling the sexy look by the hiccup she gave.

"Hi... err... Jazz," he chuckled. She was working her way down a bottle of Sol beer and by her slight slur it was obvious it wasn't her first. I found out later that her and her best mate had started pre-drinks at her place at a little after six, while Mark and I were still eating Chinese food.

"Play some music," giggled the other girl with her, even more pissed and looking even sluttier than Jazz did.

"In a while love," he said, "we go on at nine, have another drink."

We went back to the bar, and I stood with Mark and his friends, and we were joined by some of my non-slutty colleagues, and we chatted about the working week and what we had to look forward to that night. It turned out that all but one of the band were school teachers as well and they'd all met up at University and had been gigging in pubs on and off ever since.

Some of them were known to some of us and as soon as the whole 'Teacher band' was established we became a very merry bunch of people that spoke the same language -- Ofsted, (Office for Standards in Education), NTA (Non-Teaching Assistant), SENCO (Special Educational Needs Co-Ordinator) and tfDfE (that fucking Department for Education).

I was stuck to Mark like glue and Sally, Carla and some of the other female teachers and NTA's were trying to get me to one side to ask if something was going on. I just grinned at them and stepped closer to Mark.

At nine, they all headed to the small stage and started switching on their gear. Mark took up position behind his microphone stand. As Michelle, one of the school Administration officers came up to me the pub atmosphere was broken,

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we are 'Bad education' and this is a song for all the gorgeous women in the audience--who have ever been let down by men," and they played 'All the small things' by Blink 182. The audience didn't dance as such but some of the women did 'the head and shoulders dance' you see in pubs while the men did the 'nodding dance' along with singing the well-known chorus.

Next they did Carlos Santana's 'Smooth' which had the women out and dancing properly, even I let myself go and pulled Paul Conroy away from his wife and danced with him. They slipped straight into 'Achy Breaky Heart'. By this stage Jazz was trying to dance in front of Mark who was chuckling at her exploits and her pissed friend was trying to out-dance her.

Then they did it, I could almost predict how it was going to end.

"This is a song for Mark and Julia," said the lead singer, then he played the twangy intro to 'Sex on fire' and off they went. I figured Jazz would leap all over the place, and so she did. I turned away only to look straight into the faces of Paul's wife Sally and Carla who taught Technical Studies. They were both grinning but had arms folded and as one mouthed 'Mark and Julia?' with a surprised but pleased look on their faces.

"Not yet," I shouted, "but quite soon."

We all three turned to see Jazz stopping her friend from falling over from the exertion of dancing and the amount of booze she'd put away. They both crashed into people spilling drinks and soon the bouncers where on their way and lifting the pissed pair outside to the car park and the inevitable 'women sitting on the pub stairs, holding their shoes, crying'.

After a few more songs, the lead singer announced that they'd take a short break but would be back in half an hour. Mark stepped down from the stage and came across to me, beaming.

"Jazz left I see," he said.

"Yeah," I said, "I expect that right now her mate is holding her hair back from her face as she vomits into some side alley, while waiting for the taxi that won't take them because they're pissed."

He chuckled and drank some of the beer that the landlord had brought over. He stepped closer to me and raised an arm to rest it on the speakers behind him. It was simple for me to step into his personal space, and under his arm and slip mine around his waist. He lowered his arm to rest around my shoulder.

Sally and Carla grinned with a mouthed 'aaaaaawwwh' as I moved against him and hugged him, blushing and giggling.

We just seemed to spend the next thirty minutes in that position, other than the occasional whispered words and another drink, then they were back on stage, with Mark stepping up to his microphone, playing his guitar and even singing,

"When I passed you in the doorway,

You took me with a glance,

I should'a took that last bus home

But I asked you for a dance,

Now we go steady to the pictures,

I always get chocolate stains on my pants,

And my father is going crazy,

Says I'm livin' in a trance,

But I'm dancing in the moonlight,

It's caught me in its spotlight, it's alright,

Dancing in the moonlight,

On this long hot summer night..."

He looked at me the whole time and I blushed. Sally and Carla both gave tiny claps at my discomfort, but Mark received a significant reception to his bluesy song and finished with a flourish.

The guitarist came forward to his mike at the end of the applause,

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage in her first appearance with 'Bad Education' the gorgeous JULIA!" He swung his extended arm to where I stood.

I looked behind me for the singer he was indicating, evidently called Julia, like m...

I put a hand to my chest as my mouth fell open. Sally and Carla were laughing and pushing me forward. It was a few steps to the stage, but I seemed unable to get there. Eventually I was pushed forward and almost fell towards the microphone.

Mark came across amongst the shouting and screaming, mostly from my so-called mates, and whispered in my ear.

"We're doing 'That ol' devil called love' Jules," he said, "we used to play it with a previous girl singer and have all spent lunchtime or this evening re-learning it, trust me," he beamed at me, "you know it better than we do!" The pianist even gave me the words printed out but since my car karaoke I really didn't need more than a casual glance.

What choice did I have? I smiled and tried to look more confident than I was and wrestled the mike down to my height.

The pianist played the intro and Mark nodded at me and began the slow rhythmic bass line then as the guitars, and of all things a harmonica joined in, I closed my eyes and with rather more Alison Moyet than Ella, I gave of my best,

"It's that ol' devil called love again,

Gets behind me and keeps giving me that shove again,

Putting rain in my eyes, tears in my dreams,

And rocks in my heart.

It's that sly ol' son of a gun again,

He keeps telling me, I'm the lucky one again.

But I still have that rain, still have those tears,

And those rocks in my heart.

I hadn't sung to an audience like this since I was at Uni' and before I knew it I was dancing in a syncopation to my fantastic band. I pulled the microphone free of the stand and walked forwards just enough to bring me close to my fans that had now stopped screaming to listen. I put my hand on Paul's shoulder as the harmonica break ended

"S'pose I didn't stay - ran away - wouldn't play,

The devil what a potion he would brew.

He'd follow me around,

build me up, tear me down,

Till I'll be so bewildered,

I won't know what to do."

I stepped back and over to Mark and laid a hand on his wide bicep that flexed as his clever fingers danced along the neck of his guitar. I stared up into his face and I could hear my female fans screaming again,

"Might as well, give up the fight again.

I know darn well, he'll convince me,

that he's right again.

When he sings that sorry song,

I'm just gonna tag along,

With that ol' devil called love."

The pianist, who obviously had some button to press to make a machine all microchips, cable and plastic sound like a Steinway and I stepped back to let him have his moment. I looked around at the band who were all smiling at me and obviously not regretting letting their bandmate's new girlfriend have a little go at this Friday pub gig. The pianist nodded, and I stepped up again.

"He'd follow me around,

build me up, tear me down,

Till I'll be so bewildered,

I won't know what to do.

Might as well, give up the fight again.

I know darn well, he'll convince me that he's right again."

The guitarist stepped up and nodded,

"Big finish honey!" he said, so I took a deep breath,

"When he sings that sorry song,

I'm just gonna tag along,

With that ol' devil called love,

With that ol' devil called looooove..."

The applause and screams and shouts started before I'd even finished the long drawn out last 'love' and I looked around the packed bar and saw that the praise was now unanimous, and even the band were applauding. I took a bow.

"The gorgeous and talented JULIA!" shouted the guitarist, and despite the cheers of 'more' I put the microphone back in the stand and stepped away, my red cheeks aching with all the smiling I'd done.

Sally put both arms around me and hugged me, giving me a little shake, and shouting

"Why didn't you tell us you could sing like that?"

With a slightly shaking hand I took my beer bottle back from Carla and sipped. What a night this was turning in to.

They rocked lots more building up the noise and the excitement, finishing with a burst of twelve bar blues songs; 'great balls of fire', 'Caroline', 'Do you wanna dance', 'no particular place to go' ending with 'fun, fun, fun' by the Beach Boys.

The now packed pub gave them an ovation, and they played 'The Chain' by Fleetwood Mac which of course featured Mark on his bass guitar and the place came alive. They played 'Hey Jude' which had everyone stood waving their hands in the air.

Mark called over to Paul, and he approached the stage and was handed a spare guitar, and to our delight he smiled to his wife and played the intro to 'Mustang Sally'.

As they thumped towards the end of the song, the Landlord rang the bell along with the call 'time at the bar Ladies and Gentlemen!', and that was that.

Several people came up to the band to congratulate them, and I made sure I was at Mark's arm, so all the women knew he was taken. Pretty soon the band was packing their gear into a selection of cars and vans. Sally, Paul and Carla all came up and wished us both a good night, Sally leaned in close,

"Especially you honey," she whispered and pecked me on the cheek.

I just knew Mark and I would be the talk of the staff room on Monday; so, as the band all said their goodbyes, I made sure I slipped an arm through his.

We walked back to my flat arm in arm, him with a real post-gig glow about him, me with a similar buzz for my one-off ballad. He indicated the Indian restaurant just across from the pub, but I shook my head.

"I'd rather we go back to my place and consider options on what we tried back in the pub."

"Oh," he grinned, "that'll be fine," he leaned down slightly, "how about this." He gently put his hand to the side of my face and brought his down to meet mine. He opened his mouth and our lips met. Our tongues clashed for the first time, and it was lovely. I put my arms around his waist and pulled him closer to me, squashing my boobs against his chest.

We broke for breath,

"Let's get back to my place," I said, "we can do this in the warm."

We walked quickly, at one stage we crossed the road and broke into a short run, this led to us charging down the road laughing, only stopping at my door. I found my keys in my small handbag as Mark stepped in behind me, slipping his arms around me. It was yummy. I opened the door, and we walked up the single flight of stairs.

Into my kitchen and I put down my bag, before I'd even turned around Mark had pulled me into his arms again and was kissing me. He sifted his hands through my hair, and I almost melted; this was going to be good.

I was minded to make some coffee but right now I just wanted to get to the sofa and carry on what we were doing.

We made it to the sofa, where he started to undress me, freeing me of my jeans, and my fitted top. I knelt over him in just my matching bra and panties I pulled away from him just enough so I could pull his T-shirt over his head, and I got my first look at his fine torso, and fuck, it was well worth the look.

I gripped his belt buckle and made to undo his jeans, instead he stood, lifted me in his arms and carried me through to my bedroom. Thank God, I'd sorted out the bed before we left, and he lay me down across the duvet that was pulled slightly to one side. He stripped out of his jeans and lay on the bed next to me in just his stretchy boxer shorts.

As our lips and tongues meshed and swirled, he was using his hands to stroke and caress, and I started to do the same back to him, the tremble in my belly quite serious now.

"Jules," he said breaking from kissing my lips, mouth and face, "just how far would you like to go this evening?"

I grinned; at that stage there was no way I was going to do anything less than make love with this man tonight.

"If it's OK with you Mark, I'd very much like to make love with you."

"I'm so pleased you said that," he grinned, "There's no way I could have made it home."

"What's up Mark, you too drunk to drive?" I rolled over and lay partially on top of him.

"No, I'm just about within the legal limit," he said, "It's more about me trying to either ride a motorcycle or walk with this raging erection you are currently leaning on."

"I'll help you with that." I said and slid a hand down his body, taking hold of what turned out to be an extremely impressive hard on through his pants. I squeezed; he groaned. "Wow!" I said looking gleefully into his face, "Is this all for me?"

"Oh yeah," he said, "just for you."

He rolled over on top of me and reached under me to undo my bra. This he managed, and as I struggled to pull down his pants, once complete he grabbed my bra with his teeth and pulled it off me, freeing my full boobs.

With a growl, he opened his mouth and exposed his teeth making to drop them onto my boobs. I laughed, wriggled and tried to cross my arms. Instead, he rolled to one side pulling me with him. He kissed me again and we went for it.

I had condoms in my bedside table, but thankfully Mark had one in his wallet. I snatched it from his hand and moved down to his cock; being that close, I just had to kiss it, which then become mouthing, to full on sucking and pumping with my mouth. He groaned and I stopped.

"Hey Jules," he hissed, pulling me up to kiss him, He rolled me on my back and moved down between my legs, pulling down the tiny tight panties that had clung to my arse so nicely the whole night. Before the things were past my knees, I felt his breath on my vulva. His mouth descended on my pussy as my panties came off -- it's fair to say I nearly came off as well.

His tongue then lips went straight to my swollen clit, while one of his fingers snaked inside my sopping pussy and after a briefest investigation settled on my g-spot and scrubbed lightly. I stretched and pushed against him, gasping his name.

"Mark, oh shit, Mar..." my hands went from the back of his head to the sheets at my sides, and his head came up,

"As I said in the week Jules, ladies should always come first, in all things..."

Within five minutes, and a couple of orgasms, I was laying on my back and Mark was above pushing his wonderfully hard and now protected penis in and out of me, and I was in heaven. It was my first lovemaking in longer than I could remember, and although I never complained about the recreational sex with Joe, this was better; better than the noisy, leaping around, rolling-across-the-bed, sloppy sex that we'd specialised in.

This had passion, empathy, and desire so strong that I'd never known with any other lover. So much so I clung to Mark and we kissed (not something Joe and I ever really did), and I came, only the second or third time that had ever happened to me during intercourse.

He came as I clung to him, and he gently stroked my face and my hair and we kissed again sweetly, passionately with real tenderness, gazing into each-other's faces catching our breath and kissing periodically.

"Wow," I said, my arms around his neck and gently stroking down his face to his neck and shoulders, at the same time using my strong pussy muscles to squeeze his slowly deflating cock that was still inside me.

"You were fantastic Jules; it was all I could do not to come. Jeez, making love with you is intense, I don't know how I managed to hold back." He kissed me.

"If you stay the night," I whispered, "you can have another go in the morning and check that it's just as good."

"Yeah," he growled, "I was so hoping you were going to suggest that!"

"Go get rid of the condom, I'll get the tea," I said beaming a smile, kissing and hugging him.

He rolled off me, and headed for the bathroom while I stood, somewhat unsteadily I must add, and hugging myself -- just a bit. In the kitchen I switched on the kettle, dug out two decaf tea bags and dropped them in mugs and pulled open the fridge door.

There wasn't that much for a midnight snack for a pair of peckish lovers. We hadn't stopped for a meal, and I'll confess myself peckish. I found some pot noodles, some crisps, and a large pack of chocolate biscuits. Back in the bedroom, Mark had done what he needed and was laying back on the bed, his fine form looking exceptionally good, although not as good as it had looked ten minutes before.

"Christ Julia," he hissed holding out a hand, "you're fucking gorgeous!"

Still holding my tray, I dropped my weight onto one leg and posed for him, sticking out my chest just the tiniest bit, as I knew he was a great admirer of my curves. I grinned at his lustful smile and placed the tray down on the bedside table and lay next to him and we kissed, initially just for one but it turned into a few minutes of passionate French kissing the like of which I'd never known.

In my absence, he'd found the remote for the TV and had flicked through the channels finally settling on one of my favourites, 'Family Guy'.

We lay back against the headboard eating pot noodles, laughing at the cartoons, sipping tea, trying to avoid crisp crumbs in the bed and trying to dip Hobnobs into hot tea without them disintegrating.

The cartoons finished and were replaced with some other shit that we couldn't be bothered with, so I switched off the TV, slipped an arm over him and took my favourite place with any lover, laying in his arms with my head on his shoulder. Joe hated that position, couldn't stand my hair even near his face; seeing as he was so fucking sensitive...

But you could probably have guessed that. We rarely actually 'slept' together. More often than not, he would nap for an hour or so, then wake up grumbling, complaining about my hair, the sound I made breathing -- anything. He would get up, head to the bathroom and dump the condom, and urinate. Once the bathroom light came on, I knew he was dressing, and five minutes later I'd feel a hand on my shoulder, letting me know he was off. No warm words, no 'see you later', not even a 'thanks for letting me fuck you'. Miserable twat.

Not with Mark though.

We woke the next morning with him spooning me, his warm hands on my boobs and that lovely stiff cock pressing against my bottom. I was so tempted to just push him into my pussy, but I knew I didn't want to get pregnant. I reached into the top drawer of the bedside table, realising that the condoms were in the other one. I pushed him onto his back, and he started to wake up.

His first view was me, kneeling across his groin trying desperately to open the condom packet and place what I wanted on his cock so I could get what I needed. I succeeded, and in one movement was pushing myself down on him, feeling his hardness pierce me in exactly the same way he did last night.

I rode him for all I was worth, intent on my first orgasm of the day, working him where I wanted him the most, his hands mauling then caressing my tits. It was well worth the effort, and I almost screamed with the pleasure, grinding everything I wanted grinding on him, as I'd learned with Joe.

This was tonnes better though. I'd screwed Joe, I fucked with him. But with Mark we made love, and it was with some real sense of relief that I rolled onto my back and pulled him over me. He wasn't having that though, instead of slipping between my thighs and entering me, he flipped me onto my front and I pulled my knees up, just in time for him to push his rock-hard cock into my pussy from the rear.

SHIT! What a lover. He rode me hard, and I started to get a wonderful feeling of abandon that I'd never had with Joe mind you. With Joe, we were pretty much responsible for our own pleasure, using our partner to get there.

Mark was passionate though; kind and sensitive and he just knew what buttons to press straight away. Once I'd come a second time, I felt that swelling in him and the final push that let me know that at last I could relax; after all I wasn't quite sure how much more of his fantastic fucking I could have taken.

We got up and wandered into the kitchen to make tea and breakfast toast, him in just his boxers, me in my bikini panties. We had a wonderful slow morning, until he announced he had to go and play rugby that afternoon.

"Can I come and watch?" I said.

"Yes," he said slightly surprised, "Not really a lady's gig, but of course." He narrowed his eyes, "don't think I've ever had a spectator!"

"More of a fan!"

"Haven't had one of those either," he leaned across and kissed me, his tenderness made me tremble inside again, just the tiniest bit.

"A confession," I grinned, "it's just another opportunity for me to see this amazing body of yours!"

"Well," he said slipping his arms around me, "You should definitely come and watch then."

To get into the moment, I had a wonderful time watching Mark in the shower. Mind you, he also said that he couldn't take his eyes off me as it was my turn under the spray.

I sent Carrie a text and said I was doing really well with the homework she'd set me and if she wanted to mark it, she should go to the local recreation ground I knew that Steve played at. She sent me a reply almost straight away saying she'd see me later, seeing as her fiancé was playing at the same place that afternoon.

I drove Mark back to his bed and breakfast, and it was awful.

Just stood in the ground floor reception, it felt both cold and damp, warmer than outside purely because of the lack of the cold north-easterly wind that the lunchtime weather forecast had warned of.

The Spartan furnishing I could see through the just open door of the guest sitting room, and general lack of any homey touches, the notes everywhere letting guests know the times they were allowed in and when they weren't, how long they had in the bathroom with a spreadsheet - hand-drawn mind you - with the times each room occupant had to be in and out by, and I got the feeling that this place was used to putting up those unfortunates on benefits, and with little or no choice.

The biggest note I read said that residents were not allowed visitors in their rooms under any circumstances, so I waited in the hallway as he trotted up the stairs to his room. His landlady had appeared as soon as he closed his bedroom door and watched me like a hawk, making a point of standing between me and the stairs, arms folded and glaring hatefully at me, as if I was going to grab him, jump on him and rape him in her living room. I just smiled at her. She returned the look with abject disgust, and an almost threatening raised top lip.

I didn't want a punch up but wasn't having her treating me or my new man like we were something trodden into the carpet.

"I'm not going upstairs," I said, "honestly. You don't need to stand on guard."

"Non-guests are NOT allowed upstairs!" She snapped.

"I know," I said, with a grin, "I read the sign; signs plural in fact." I nodded towards the second of three hand-written-in-red-felt-tip-on-old-envelopes warnings dotted around the freezing hallway. She looked me up and down with a judgemental almost snarl, so I gave her a twirl, stopping with a big false smile, "better?"

She huffed and looked away, "you don't have to treat everyone like we're here to steal things, Mark's a schoolteacher!" I said as nicely as I felt able.

"I treat all of my guests the same," she snapped with an rising inflection, folding her arms and pursing her lips, "whether they are poor men down on their luck or 'teachers'," she spat out the word as if 'teacher' was on a par with 'housebreaker'.

"I'm a teacher as well," I said, just in case she had a problem with them.

"Hunpph," she mumbled, and I just looked up the stairs, as Mark reappeared, a big smile on my face.

He pushed his bedroom door closed, looking hot in his tracksuit and carrying another bag with him.

"Are you back for breakfast tomorrow, Mark?" she snapped with an admonishing tone.

He looked at me slightly behind her and by the front door. I shook my head.

"No Anne," he said, "staying over with my friend again."

"I not reducing your rent Mark," she said with a bad-tempered growl at his treachery.

"Didn't think you would for a second," he said with a smile, and she didn't smile back.

I didn't know the lady or her relationship with Mark, but even I knew that this was a nicely phrased insult. With a cold hard silence in the cold hard hallway, I stepped back and opened the front door and out to the pavement.

We trotted back out to my car, and once in, I leaned over and kissed him.

"What a fucking bitch," I all but screeched, "she's even worse than you described her."

He laughed.

Next, we headed out for the huge recreation ground on the edge of town and the half dozen sports pitches there, the white 'H' shapes obvious and my destination. I saw Carrie's Mini, and guessed she wouldn't be far away, and as I pulled into a spot reasonably close, Mark reached into his bag and pulled out a rugby shirt, a slightly faded version of the one he was wearing.

"Here you go," he said, "you can wear that, keep the chill off." He undid his seatbelt and slid down his tracksuit trousers, over his boots.

I chose initially to wrap it around my shoulders, and he leaned in close and kissed me,

"See you in a bit," he whispered, and opened his car door and stepped out. I looked across at some other players on another pitch and recognised their shirts; of course they were Steve's team, the only other rugby team I'd ever cheered for before.

"I'll be the one shouting," I said, and took hold of his face and kissed him back.

"Good work Miss Graham!" I heard from behind me. I turned as Mark trotted off to his team mates to warm up, and there was Carrie, standing by the pitch next to the one that Mark was about to play on. "Very nice," she said looking at his retreating form, "how long has this been going on?"

I grinned, put finger and thumb to my chin and looked up, and looked at my watch. She giggled as well.

"We had dinner on Thursday at my place, and he was really sweet and charming, I went to see his band last night, and he err... he stayed over."

"Stayed over?" said Carrie, "and what pray, was the position regarding your hair, make-up, blouse and brassiere fastening?"

I grinned.

"You'll be pleased to know they were all over the place Miss," I said. Carrie giggled along with me grabbing my hand again and squeezing.

"And was he good?"

"Better hun," I said, "Wow! He was wonderful!"

She beamed back at me and bit her bottom lip,

"Better than..." she stopped as I bit my bottom lip and nodded quickly, "Oh, how lovely!" she buzzed, "now all you need to do is get him into a decent rugby team and we'll be double dating!"

The matches started and I cheered for Mark on one pitch while she cheered for Steve on the next.

During half time, we had a coffee and cake from the posh airstream caravan café on site and went back to the matches.

Mark was a 'full back' and spent much of his time stopping people getting to his goal line and punting the ball down the field when it was passed to him, while on his pitch, Steve was a forward and at a couple of points both Carrie and I jumped up and down cheering. Not that I had any idea of what was going on of course. It was quite a surreal moment, almost like having two matches to watch on TV and switching over to watch the other one, just by turning around.

Whistles sounded, hands were shaken and these now friendly hooligans that had been tearing after each other, wrestling their opponents to the ground, were now smiling and shaking hands, patting backs and laughing at what they'd been up to in the previous eighty minutes. I waved brightly at my one as he took the longest walk from his goal posts back to the changing rooms, waving brightly and blowing a kiss to me. Mark's team drew -- apparently - while Steve's team won by three points, but they were both close matches -- so Carrie told me.

Carrie and I grabbed a second coffee against the late afternoon chill, and she looked at me appraisingly.

"You and the history boy," she said, with her rarely used serious tone, "this is serious Miss Graham, isn't it."

It wasn't a question.

"I rather think it is Miss Harris."

There was a pause,

"Good," she said, "have you told him your middle name, and does he load the dishwasher?"

"Yes to both."

She narrowed her eyes then smiled.

"You trust him then?"

I thought about it, then nodded.

My friend of almost seven years, she knew what had happened to me with previous relationships, and a couple of guys that I'd really had it bad for. The last was a rather hot finance undergraduate called Wayne, who'd announced to me after about five weeks of intimacy, long evenings and passionate nights, that the time we had shared had been 'just sex' -- the term 'situationship' wasn't in general use then.

I'd not had anything close to a relationship for at least a year following that one, my sexual fast broken by the start of my relationship/situationship with Joe.

Part of my weepy complaints about Wayne had been that after all, hadn't we gotten close? He'd met my Dad -- briefly, I told him my middle name that I disliked? I'd also grumbled that whenever he stayed at my place, he was incapable of loading his used cutlery and crockery into the house dishwasher, leading to complaints from my housemates finding it in the sink or on the worktop.

While it had been a gentle way for Carrie to good-naturedly rib me, it was a good indication of any new relationship. Not that there was one of course, my faith in humanity, the male part at least, was pretty damaged.

At least I knew that anything that happened with Joe, our ability to trust was not an issue. We'd tried all that relationship stuff to no avail but still enjoyed the fringe benefits. We were more interested in our flexibility, how far along in my menstrual cycle I was and who was supplying the condoms.

Trust; nope, not big on that for sure.

Until I met Mark.

After all, I did trust him; from the start in fact. Mark and I had bonded quite quickly, first with that initial clash of eyes in the staff room, our school lunches and breaks, him arranging then playing music for my Glee girls, a cooked dinner at my place and chilling out on my sofa and watching the Bond movie, just like a couple would have done. That amazing night before; watching his band, then me singing with them.

It was making love though, the attraction we'd both been aware of and had given in to, stripping each other, kissing and caressing until we could hold it off no longer.

We had clicked in less than two weeks, not just as lovers, but as colleagues, then friends.

"Yeah," I said, "definitely."

She beamed a huge grin at me then gave me a hug. We continued to drink our coffee.

Twenty-five minutes after the matches, Steve and Mark reappeared and were introduced, and we all headed for town. Despite the controlled aggression the boys had been displaying not half an hour previously, that was soon forgotten, and they talked about their favourite players and teams and soon we were in the outlet village and eating burgers and steaks at Frankie and Benny's. We bonded as two couples quite quickly and we had a really nice time.

We talked girly stuff while Steve and Mark talked Rugby and were soon discussing motorbikes. The discussion then went to rock and roll, and Steve asked him what guitar he played. It was an 'American Fender Precision' he replied, and I guessed that meant it was different to an English Fender Precision. Apparently because they are also made in Japan and Mexico, so Steve told me.

Steve played a six-string Epiphone Les Paul it turned out but was not good enough to play in a band and occasionally rocked out with some of his mates. Carrie dragged out Mark's next gig, which was in two Friday's time, a short walk from her place -- another date.

"You might get to hear Julia sing as well," said Mark.

"What?" snapped Carrie sitting bolt upright, "My girl Julia sang?"

"Oh yeah," said Mark, "She sang, and it was bloody marvellous."

There then followed a five-minute chat in which I took a very small part as Mark extolled my singing abilities, and Carrie and Steve grinned with pleasure.

Soon the night was drawing to a close and we shook hands and kissed, then headed home, back to my flat, and Mark brought his overnight bag in with him. He made himself comfortable on the sofa.

"Awwww this is so nice," he said, "I don't have comfy chair in my room, and the only sofa I can sit on is in what that bloody woman calls the guests sitting room." He rested his head back against the sofa, "Only the sofa in there is too small, too old and feels like it's been stuffed with nails and broken glass. And whenever I sit in there, she hangs around to make sure I don't change the TV channel."

"What?" I said in shock, "why?"

"She leaves it on ITV One because it has Emmerdale and Coronation Street." He sat up again, "If no one is in there she goes to her own room and watches TV!" he said with incredulity, "She hides the remote control, but I downloaded one on my phone and changed it over to watch the Rugby and turned the sound down. She was nowhere near the TV!" he said, "She lives in her own room with her own TV!"

I giggled and took his hand.

"Poor Mark," I said leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"She demanded to know how I'd got the remote. I said that I didn't have the remote and it was on that channel, and she should check where she hid the thing just to make sure. Of course, she made to find it then realised I'd see where it was. In a fit of pique, she turned the thing off and stormed off. I watch TV on my laptop now, but that'll only last until she turns off the Wi-Fi when she realises I'm using it to that extent."

I sat down next to him and pulled him close. After an episode of the Simpsons, I'd realised that he'd nodded off. I thought about how awful it must have been for him, away from home and family, trying to get his life sorted out, and living in shit like that. I had been having this idea since Thursday evening and my trip to his place that morning, then my chat with Carrie only went to make my mind up.

"Come on sleepy," I said kissing his cheek, "bedtime."

He stood up and I took his hand and dragged him to my room, with my king size double bed, not the shitty single he slept on at the cold, damp, barely-heated B&B. We undressed, both pleasantly tired and content just to hold and be held by the other.

Naked I lay in his arms, and I rolled to face him.

"How much do you pay your B&B lady a week?"

"£275," he said, "I pay extra for her charm."

"Mark," I said, "don't take this the wrong way but why don't you move in here?"

"I... I suppose..." he said looking concerned. After all we had only known each other that closely for a few days.

"Look," I said quickly, "there's a spare room if it's easier, £100 a week and we go halves on the food shopping." I pulled him tight, "I can't bear the thought of you having to eek it out at that place with that cow for a minute longer."

He grinned and kissed me.

"Done," he said, and we shook hands.

Still holding his hand I pulled him over me, and I kissed him back.

"But if you sleep in the spare room too often," I whispered, "the rent will have to go up."

"Never going to happen," he said.

He moved in the next day giving his bitch-landlady the three days' notice she demanded. He actually told her that she could keep the rest of the week's rent he'd already paid. She took this with bad grace and said she'd need to check the room, which was of course spotless.

She tried desperately to find something damaged to charge him for but couldn't, much as she kept him hanging around during her search. After all, there was fuck all in the room he could have damaged.

I was piling his few bags and boxes into the boot of my car, and he eventually began to walk out stopping her in mid rant to tell her about her appalling, cold and damp house, her atrocious manners and her crap breakfasts, and her crap evening meals. She had spent the last ten minutes picking holes in him and his general shortcomings as a tenant, while she crawled across every inch of the tiny, cold and damp room and every surface. She plucked at the already worn bed sheets, as if his sleeping in them might have reduced their value.

I was starting to lose my temper, so he sent me on my way with the last of his bags.

Once I'd gone, he too could no longer stand the 'trial by grumble', and said that her continuing drivel about the cleanliness of the place, her high standards for residents and the amazing value had all the marketing benefit of toothache, and while the floors were indeed clean enough to eat your dinner off, he said that it was likely to be the only thing that would give them flavour.

She said she would sue him for slander, he suggested she did so. Once back at my place he checked into the website he'd initially found her on and gave a real 'warts and all' description of three weeks of hell staying there, giving her one star and suggesting that the broken bench on the canal bank would be more homely, warm and welcoming than her establishment, and that he'd calculated that eating a McDonalds bacon and egg McMuffin for breakfast and a Cheeseburger meal for dinner EVERY DAY, was better tasting, more fulfilling and slightly better value, especially if eaten in the high street, even if it was raining. She never did sue him.

Next we collected his things from his tiny storage unit and piled them into what room was left in my garage and into the spare room -- on the bed in fact. After all, he never slept in there, ever.

And that was that.

That first Monday at school was interesting. All of my female colleagues that had been at the pub on the previous Friday wanted to know how our weekend had been, and some had been there when we both arrived in my car that morning.

At our first break, I chatted with a group will Sally and Carla at the front of the pack. Carla told the gang what about my singing solo with Mark's band, and how brilliant I had been. There was a bit of a sigh, and I noticed the narrowed eyes of Jazz, who'd left shortly before that, and I doubted would have remembered much of it, seeing how shitfaced her and her friend had been.

She made to step across to Mark who was chatting with their joint subject lead, and I think Sally noticed my eyes at her back and the bit of wiggle she gave as she stepped across the room.

Bitch.

She was homing in on my man.

Mine?

I was pretty sure I had a bit of a claim on him at least.

"Well..." I said quietly, "he... well, he's moved in with me..." I said quietly.

"WHAT!?!" Came the joint girly cry.

"You should have seen his B&B..." I said, "it was..."

Sally slipped an arm around me,

"The way you two were looking at each other on Friday night Babe?" She grinned a look have maternal-half mischief, "I'm sure that if it's still platonic, then it won't be for much longer!"

I gritted my teeth, wrinkled my nose and squeezed my eyes shut in some embarrassment, then thought that Sally and Paul had met at this school and had been married for twelve years and had two children of their own.

When I opened them, it was to a crowd of happy-looking, hopeless-romantic work colleagues ooh'ing and aah'ing at our relationship.

Jazz was on the outskirts of the conversation, stopped by the screeches, and whatever she'd wanted to speak to her Mark (or her boss) about was evidently forgotten.

I STILL can't believe how easy it was. We split the cost of everything, including the utilities and in less than a week we'd become a couple. We both went to work in my car, or when the weather allowed on his bike, stopping some distance away from the school for a while. This stopped after a short time as one of the more precocious year nines asked why she saw me getting off the back of Mr Foster's motorbike that morning.

Knowing my year nines like I did, I simply said,

"He gave me a lift, you got a problem with that?"

Pretty soon though, it was out in the open because while we had our own families and lives, within days whatever I might have said about him just 'staying with me until he found somewhere', we were doing everything together; the shopping, going to the cinema, concerts and just days out.

We'd both cook, even though he was far better at it than me, and then we'd retire to the sofa and hold hands at least and cuddle most often. The sofa took over from my dining room table for marking and lesson planning. It was like being back at university again, only sometimes my roommate would occasionally grab me, and screw me on it.

I went on the pill and soon the hassle of condoms was forgotten, and our lovemaking increased. I timed our first condom-free lovemaking well.

As we headed towards the summer, the weather was wonderful, and I convinced him to come camping with me. Something that, despite his rough and tough, rugby playing, motor-biking nature he'd never done before.

I still had a whole mess of stuff from my Duke of Edinburgh Award, and I'd looked after it and taken it to the Isle of Wight, Glastonbury and several other festivals with Carrie, and I knew that it was cosy, but that wasn't going to be a problem with Mark.

"So, we sleep on the floor?" said Mark as I rolled out my two air mattresses on the Wednesday night before.

"Not quite," I said, "you have these to make it softer and stop you losing all your body heat."

"Oh goody," he said picking up my sleeping bag, "and you 'sleep'," he said, not looking convinced.

"Of course!" I sat up on my knees and giggled. I took out my tiny cooker and pans set and this he seemed more impressed with. Then plastic plates, mugs and all the other stuff and he smiled but didn't look convinced.

He didn't appear at lunch that Friday afternoon and I when we got home from work, I found out why. He'd walked along to Asda and bought two chairs and a tiny kettle.

"Softy," I reprimanded him with a smile.

We packed it all into the boot of my car along with some tins of food and what was left of the milk and butter from our fridge.

When we got to the camp site in Somerset, I had the tent up in moments, and blew up the airbeds with the electric pump that they came with, and I'd never used because I'd not had power or a 12 volt supply even. In the meantime, he'd figured how to get my cooker screwed together and had even lit it, placing his new kettle on the top of it between our two new chairs.

I flopped back into my seat in that early summer late evening sunshine and took my tea from him, he bent down and kissed me.

That we walked to the nearby pub and had a huge burger and chips for supper. We walked hand in hand back to the site and just shy of our tent he stopped, took my face in his hands, and kissed me, bathed in the light of the moon and the stars. It was, up until that point, the single most romantic thing any man had ever done for me. I melted in his arms and felt my nipples tingle as they sprung to hardness.

We slid down and into the tent, giggling and stroking each other as we struggled in the tiny space to get out of our clothes. Eventually naked he rolled on top of me, and I spread my thighs to welcome him between them.

He leaned across to his jeans for his wallet.

"Not tonight honey," I whispered in his ear.

"What?" he said, "don't you want..."

I grinned and stroked his cheek,

"Oh yeah," I smiled at him, "Only I've been on the pill for a week now and you don't need to worry about condoms anymore." His smile spread across his face.

"Oh wow!" he said and kissed me.

He lifted his groin until I felt his erection push against my puss that had started to soften and moisten with our sweet nothings as we walked back from the pub. He pushed into me, and I groaned, preparing myself for what was actually my first lovemaking without a condom, ever. That thought and our closeness brought tears to my eyes, and he saw them and kissed them away.

"Hey Baby," he whispered as he slowly began to fuck in and out of me.

"Hey Baby," I whispered back, "Mark, I want you to know, to know that this is the first time I've ever made love without a condom."

"I'll make it special Baby," he hissed, and didn't he just. I felt him saw in and out of me moving his prick around with different thrusts into me at different angles and listening intently to my responses until he knew which was doing it for me on this night. Mark was an amazingly considerate lover and did this every time, and I mean EVERY time. It was wonderful and after our perfect evening I felt my insides start to tremble in that way it did when I was getting there.

"Oh Mark," I hissed into his ear, conscious that there was only a couple of layers of nylon and cotton between us and the next tent, "I'm coming Darling, I'm coming." And with a long gasp I did, and within moments I felt his hot sperm splash inside me, and it was amazingly thrilling. I rolled into my second come as we hit that perfect moment.

We lay together, coming down,

"Julia," he whispered, "I don't know if this is allowed, but..." he took a breath, "I'm in love with you Jules; totally, hopelessly, ridiculously."

I couldn't stop myself crying, a bit,

"I'm in love with you too Mark," I said, conscious that I'd been having those feelings for weeks now, from that Thursday night he'd come to my house, that first evening we'd eaten that meal and sat with our feet up to watch a Bond movie and eaten an entire gateau between us.

We slept well and woke up the following morning and did it again, it was wonderful although I did have all the 'wet patch' stuff to get used to. Because my tent was basically a long sloping tube with no headroom, our lovemaking was restricted to 'man on top', but it was quite wonderful all the same.

After a shower and a coffee, we headed off to the nearest town and had breakfast, and spent the day just delighting in being in each other's company. It marked a change in our relationship, and it just got better.

We sat together in the staff canteen, and I tried not to gaze into those big sparkly green eyes or speak in that 'partner shorthand' that tells everyone in listening range that you are operating on a different level to them. We giggled, and those that had been at that first gig smiled and guessed what we knew, and pretty soon it was obvious to all that something was going on and the whole school got it. So much so there was hardly any, 'Sir/Miss, are you boyfriend/girlfriend?' stuff that you often get from teenagers.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be and both being the same age, single and reasonably attractive it was obvious what was going on and why, and we soon stopped being the talk of the school. Even Jazz noticed and there was a definite increase in the length of skirt and reduction in her make-up.

Mark did say that she stopped stepping into his personal space and must have gotten the message. Her slightly more flamboyant dress and make-up stopped a few weeks before the end of term and I understood that she'd started going out with a 'friend of an old friend'. The change in her clothing was quite shocking, she'd gone from 'fashion model' to 'slightly yummy mummy' over one weekend, wearing the sort of stuff that I'd expect women her age to wear to work. Even her classes noticed.

Quite simply, she'd found 'the one' and didn't need to impress any longer.

School finished and the summer started, and we had a 'last minute holiday' grabbing ten days in a villa in Florida and doing all of the theme parks, something I'd always wanted to do. Now that our outgoings had been shared, I had money left in the bank at the end of the month and so did he, so we ate out, got a tan and swam in our pool. I went topless for the first time in my life, and Mark was extremely appreciative and complimented me for it.

That wonderful late summer bloomed into a golden autumn, and we were hardly away from each other for any of that time but for a few Saturday stay overs with his Rugby team. I knew they were coming and tried hard to make time for Carrie, and she came over for a couple of our Saturday evenings.

Mind you, we double dated quite often, and yes, I became a Friday and Saturday singer for 'Bad Education' and Carrie screams the loudest, along with many of my work colleagues.

I drove up to London and introduced him to my dad, (Mum had divorced him and lived in Spain with her new partner who wasn't much older than Mark) and my sister and brother-in-law, and they loved him. My sister had seen a video of me singing taken by a mate and tagged us both and uploaded it to Facebook, so Sis had an idea of the new boy.

We all went out to dinner and Dad took to Mark straight away, it turned out that Dad had been a Rugby full back and a biker as well in his younger days, and they clicked.

I'd met his Mum, and I'd met his Dad, and then I met his sister Christina and her girlfriend, and finally his brother Tom, but never all together! They were an extremely happy family but also a very busy and well spread out one but seemed in almost constant contact. They would phone, Skype, face time, whatever -- but it was always really sweet to watch and often be a part of.

Our first Christmas we went to his parents' place in France for a week, jumping on the ferry within forty-five minutes of driving out of the school gates.

Mark drove once we got off the Ferry at Cherbourg, and within two hours we were at their large, warm, welcoming home near Le Mans. I had never had that much to do with other boyfriends' families (Joe hated his for instance) and really didn't know what to expect.

Mark's Dad was an investment banker, while his Mum was Optometrist. They had inherited the place from his paternal grandfather, and it was and had been the family bolt hole for summer holidays, long weekends and, if Mark was anything to go by, whenever the mood took them!

It was looked after by an ex-pat family living in France, had a large, well-filled freezer and one hell of a wine cellar and the ex-pat family would buy milk, bread and cheese and stock whatever the Foster family wanted. This included an entire Christmas dinner it appeared. When we arrived it was to coffee, and hot crumpets toasted on the open fire, spread with Normandy butter.

Then just to keep it British, his Mum cooked bacon and egg sandwiches and refused any kind of help from me, insisting I sat down and relax after our long journey -- she'd been there for two days by that stage.

But it was the night before Christmas Eve and nearing midnight and we were all very tired, warm and just a bit tipsy from the excellent wine they kept. For a moment it looked very much like Mark and his Mum Beverly had shared a look and I thought it was just one of those Mum/Son things. They were extremely close, and it was obvious they shared the same kind of sense of humour.

"Well gang," she said standing up and collecting empty glasses, "It's about time we all went up to our beds, don't you think?" I stood up and Bev put a hand on my shoulder, "not so fast honey," she said, "I don't have single women sleeping with single men in my house..."

I stopped dead, sobering up quite quickly. I looked across at Christina and her partner Jen, but quickly looked away; neither of them would get pregnant I supposed.

"Oh, come on Mum!" said Mark poker faced, "this is the twenty first century!"

"You know my rules, Mark!" she said with folded arms.

I felt terrible, the last thing I wanted to do was create a rift within this lovely family on the eve of the Christmas holiday.

"Oh, all right then!" he whined in a petulant voice I'd certainly never heard from him, and he walked across to me. I guessed he'd come to kiss me goodnight.

Instead, he dropped to one knee before me, and I could see him holding out a small dark box I'd never seen before. "Julia Amanda Graham, you are the most beautiful, wonderful, loving girl and you've made me the happiest man in the world," he paused and opened the box, there was a gorgeous old-gold, diamond engagement ring, "will you marry me?"

I was pleased that his Mum had taken my wine glass, because I know I would have dropped it. Her face had gone from that stern maternal look she had obviously put on for effect, to both hands clasped together, her face a picture of nervous apprehension.

As for me I could only stare at Mark on one knee, his lovely family around him and that little box,

"Yes!" I burst out, "Yes!" He stood again and I leapt into his arms, laughing, crying, giggling, and squeezing him around his neck fit to burst. Christina and Jen obviously hadn't been in on the deal and looked as emotional as me!

He put me down and took my left hand, and tried the ring for size, it fitted perfectly.

"There," said his Mum, "I told you it would, didn't I?" She hugged me and kissed my cheek, "That's better," she said, "I suppose you can sleep in the same room now," she said with a grinned sigh and dramatically folded arms.

His Dad Jeff came over and gave me a hug,

"Been arranging this for weeks they have," he said in a mildly admonishing tone, "but welcome to the family honey!"

It was noticed by the more eagle-eyed women in the staff room on that wonderful first day back and I had my hand shook and my cheek kissed many times that day, and Mark had likewise; he even received a peck and a smile from still loved up Jazz. Everything was arranged for late July that year and we took over the lovely little church a short walk from our flat.

Three years later, and I'm now Mrs Foster; Mark still plays Rugby and plays for the same team. 'Bad Education' is still playing gigs and has even provided music for my school glee club concerts, what with all of them being schoolteachers. I sing with them quite regularly.

This September I'm due to go back to school after the birth of our first baby, Amy. She's gorgeous and the apple of Daddy's eye, but before then we will be moving into our first house. Mark eventually got the money from his ex after she sold their house, and his sister Chris only sent the first couple of snotty letters. I sold the lease on my flat, and as two reasonably well paid, young professionals, a mortgage was relatively easily got and comfortably paid.

I will shed a tear when I leave our flat; I fell in love with Mark there, we made love for the first time in that bedroom, and I left from there with Carrie as my bridesmaid to get married her wearing the same dress I'd worn to be her bridesmaid three weeks before. I was back two weeks later as Mrs Julia Foster and he even carried me over the threshold taking me straight to our bedroom. A year later Amy was conceived in that same room.

Our new house has three bedrooms, so Amy's brother or sister will have a room as well. I still think back to the day that I first met Mark in my cosy little school, and our eyes met across a crowded staff room. To this day we remind ourselves how lucky we were to find each other!