Hannah was a student teacher I was mentoring for a term. Our relationship had gone beyond the professional very quickly. The very first time was one of the best. It was in the classroom, long after the other staff had gone home. One moment we were standing next to one another, lifting some boxes onto a shelf and the next we were holding tightly to each other, our mouths locked together and my hands roaming over the top of her trousers, squeezing the tight cheeks underneath. It was wrong because it was at work, because work was actually a school and also because the classroom had an entire wall full of windows. It was dark outside. We couldn’t see out; we couldn’t be sure nobody was looking in.
Hannah was kissing me back hard. It was almost a battle between our mouths and tongues. She was shorter than me and thin with it, basically a wisp against my larger frame. I could tell how much she wanted this. My right hand made its way up her back and grabbed the back of her neck, gradually beginning to squeeze as we continued to make out. She pressed her mouth harder still to mine. My hand then took strands of her hair and gave a pull. As her mouth was forced back from mine, she expelled a moan.