Part One
The first time I saw Alison, was on her and my first day at a new school. We had both recently become qualified teachers, although from different London universities..
As a mature student, I had pretty much taken going to Uni in my stride, having spent many years living life, getting married, then divorced, getting married again, and trying to figure out what to do with my life to keep me from being bored rigid.
So here I was at thirty-six, starting a new career in teaching at a primary school on the outskirts of London. Me? I'm Denny (pleased to meet you). I'm not a bad-looking chap, really. Small in stature at about 5'8", a slim to medium build, shortish hair, and a ready smile that I find very easy to use. I'm quite easygoing and like to joke around, using silly voices and witty comments when the opportunity arises. To be honest, not a lot in life gets me down, so I like to laugh and enjoy the things around me.
When I attended the first day of school, a 'training day', where new staff meets the old, and we're all shown where we'll be teaching, and what to expect of the terms ahead, it was Alison that caused the libido bomb go off in my head.
Taller than me by an inch or two, she was simply beautiful. A mere youngster compared to me, at about twenty-three or twenty-four, she had legs that were a mile long. She was wearing a short blue skirt with stacked heels that put her up to about six feet tall. A slim frame with a curvy bum, that seemed perfect. Her waist was pinched, nicely, and she had broad, swimmer's shoulders. But what smacked me in the face (but not literally, sadly) were her wonderous breasts.
I've always been a boob man, and hers were easily a 34D or even double-D. And then, just to show that life can indeed, sometimes, serve you fruit without lemons, she also had a beautiful, smiling face. Rounded features with a pert little nose that had a smattering of freckles on it. They spread almost invisibly over her cheeks and forehead. Clear blue eyes with just a little make-up. Full, sensuous lips that she had coated with a muted dark pink lipstick and a mane of flowing dark-blonde hair that fell to just above her shoulder blades. She really was an absolute stunner.
I spent a lot of that first day doing my best to catch glimpses of her as we all went about the day, and when we eventually got to chatting, it turns out she's also fun, with a sexy-as-hell Canadian accent.
That first year in school as an NQT (newly qualified teacher), was spent learning the job on the hoof, living with the stresses it entails, and having to go on a one-Wednesday-afternoon-a-week course for NQTs. That's where you're bored rigid by other experienced teachers, droning on about the best way to do this, or how not to get too stressed by that, or whatever. In all, there were about twenty of us, and we mostly used the time as a legitimate afternoon away from the feral children in our classes. But the real joy for me was that I got to spend an afternoon a week with Alison.
Ali and I became much closer during those afternoons, and with me being a bit of a joker, and finding it easy to get her to laugh, we soon became comfortable in each other's company. We spent most of those sessions ridiculing other NQTs, laughing, and enjoying our time out of school.
It was on the tube-train ride heading back home, one Wednesday, that our chatting got round to discussing our 'other halves.' I told her about my first failed marriage and my current lady, Amanda, at home. She told me about a few boyfriends and then let on that she had been seeing Richard, one of the other teachers in the school, on a casual on/off basis.
"Really?" I said, looking over at her beside me on the seat.
"Are you jealous?" She asked, smiling at me and trying to gauge my reaction.
"Of course I'm jealous..." I said. But then, after just the shortest of pauses, I added, "...I wanted him first."
That made her howl with that gorgeous laugh of hers, and eventually, the conversation wound on to other topics. But it got me wondering. It was the way she'd looked over at me when she asked me if I was jealous. Was she flirting with me? Was she seeing me as more than a colleague? I was more than ten years older than her, and she was gorgeous. What could she possibly see in me? Even so, I told myself that from then on, I would look out for her giving me any kind of come-on or flirting.
It was just a week later, again on the ride home, that she brought up Richard again.
"I'm not so sure about him, really," she said as we sat, side by side, in an almost empty carriage.
"Why, what's the problem?" I asked with a grin, "Has he begun taking out his glass eye before going to bed, or maybe he farts if you squeeze him too tightly?"
She laughed and said, "No, he's just a sloppy kisser."
