Mark's 29th birthday was one that he would
certainly not forget in a hurry. For that was the first night he slept with
Miss Fotheringham and his teenage dreams became adult realities.
Miss Fotheringham, or Leah as he now called her, had had all the boys slobbering over her when she'd joined the History department as a newly qualified teacher 12 years earlier. Barely older than the boys in her class, the boys were merciless to her. She had the most wonderful green eyes and blushing cheeks and a quirky sense of humour that often meant she was the only one laughing at her own jokes. But all the boys fancied her and the constant teasing from them meant her cheeks stayed red longer than the traffic lights on Colcot Road.
Miss Fotheringham, or Leah as he now called her, had had all the boys slobbering over her when she'd joined the History department as a newly qualified teacher 12 years earlier. Barely older than the boys in her class, the boys were merciless to her. She had the most wonderful green eyes and blushing cheeks and a quirky sense of humour that often meant she was the only one laughing at her own jokes. But all the boys fancied her and the constant teasing from them meant her cheeks stayed red longer than the traffic lights on Colcot Road.
There were rumours, of course there were rumours. And according to those rumours she’d slept with half the sixth form. But ask the boys now and they'd tell you the boasts were no more than wishful thinking and wild teenage fantasies. Mark had never boasted but Miss Fotheringham had features in his
fantasies many times too.
Mark recognised her as soon as he entered the bar in London. So far from home but he knew it was her, he’d never forget that face. He left his mates and approached her.
‘What are you doing here miss?’ he said in a voice he'd not heard himself use for 11 years.
The beautiful woman with the kissable neck blushed, but, to his disappointment, she obviously didn't recognise him. She humoured him though, pretending to remember the name once Mark had repeated it twice.
They chatted about Barry Boys School and then about the war and then dolphins and somehow the conversation got around to about adult emoticons.
Mark recognised her as soon as he entered the bar in London. So far from home but he knew it was her, he’d never forget that face. He left his mates and approached her.
‘What are you doing here miss?’ he said in a voice he'd not heard himself use for 11 years.
The beautiful woman with the kissable neck blushed, but, to his disappointment, she obviously didn't recognise him. She humoured him though, pretending to remember the name once Mark had repeated it twice.
They chatted about Barry Boys School and then about the war and then dolphins and somehow the conversation got around to about adult emoticons.
‘I’d never send a penis in a text message.’
Miss Fotheringham said. It was Mark’s turn to blush at his old history teacher's turn of phrase.
Mark was aware of how he was no longer chatting
to his childhood fantasy but to a beautiful woman with beautiful green eyes and a quirky sense of humour
that often meant she was the only one laughing at her own jokes.
‘I really want to kiss you Miss.’ He said, realising he didn’t yet know her first name.
‘You can as long as you never call me Miss again,’ she said, blushing all down her neck.
Mark tasted the soft, wine soaked lips and the rest as the say, is history.
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‘I really want to kiss you Miss.’ He said, realising he didn’t yet know her first name.
‘You can as long as you never call me Miss again,’ she said, blushing all down her neck.
Mark tasted the soft, wine soaked lips and the rest as the say, is history.
For more Barry inspired stories click here
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