Janie jumped.“Lettie!” she gasped.“It’s OK,” Lettie reached for her and stroked her thigh, “David’s cool with this. We were looking at t...ese last night, actually.”“Wow,” was all Janie said. She looked at me, trying to get her head round this granddad figure watching videos of young lesbians with Lettie; then she looked back at the screen.“I should have told you, but I wanted you to see,” Lettie was stroking her thigh now, “we can do what we like here, be together, everything.”“But…” Janie. I move into my position, kneeling underneath his desk like I do every Thursday night at seven. As expected, he paws at my twenty-year-old flesh–one hand grazing my pussy, the other roughly grabbing a breast as I bend down.A sharp gasp escapes my lips as he roughly mauls the tender orb. He quickly releases me so I can finish getting into position ... I look up at the desk-mounted timer and set it for twenty-one minutes."Ready," I say quietly.He pushes his chair back underneath his desk, leaving. I did offer to buy them both lunch at the George, but as it was market day, Mum reckoned it would be too busy with all the farmers and their wives coming in to meet friends before the next phase of harvesting kept them frantically busy at home for a while.I had a dentist appointment at half past nine, then got my hair tidied up at the barbers in Ironmonger Street, went in to see my bank manager to tell him that I was about to be gainfully employed (which pleased him no end, just on principle;. She had a bit of a high -- something like the buzz of walking off stage after a performance, mixed with the out-of-body sensation of long-distance running. It was certainly possible to teach a day’s classes without putting quite so much of oneself into the effort. Some days the spark was just there, though, and when it was, she fanned it into a fire. There was a reason that students talked about the “passion” in her teaching. She drained the water bottle on her desk.Speaking of passions, it was.
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