Emily grimaced as she swigged back the remains of her third cup of over-sweetened coffee. It was the first day back at school and her stomach was in knots. She'd done no marking over the Christmas break and her first lesson of the year was with her dreaded year tens. The staffroom whirred, whispered and clicked as teachers frantically tapped out the day's lesson plans. Mr Crosswold, the ageing history teacher, kept swearing under his breath as he tried to get the printer to work, wiping his sweating forehead with stubby hands as his swollen thighs lolled over the sides of his swivel chair.
The pin-studded staffroom door sighed open and slammed with a bang.
"Fucking retards in my form have turned up in their own clothes," moaned Chrissie. She paused in her tracks as she noticed Crosswold's leer. His eyes travelled to her huge sensual breasts and lingered there a moment too long. He wasn't the only ageing member of staff who had copped a feel at the Christmas party before Chrissie had sloped off to a hotel room with two of the P.E. department. Earlier in the evening she had made a point of showing Emily and Anna from drama her clit piercing. Emily had been fascinated by how exotic her shaven, glittering pussy had looked in the pink lights of the bar toilets.
"Budge up, Em," she sang, squeezing into a corner spot. And then hissing in Emily's ear as she slipped past; "Fucking creep."
There wasn't time to find all the necessary information for her lesson on Charles Dickens, so Emily decided to wing it and give them a spelling test instead. Instead her mouse pointer hovered over her Yahoo mail. On Sunday she'd posted a wanted ad in Gumtree's dating section and was enjoying all the erotic replies she'd been receiving since. She hadn't had sex since the illicit lodger's bedroom incident back at her mum's house, and was beginning to go mad with frustration. She'd been forcing her body to a climax four, five times each day, and each accompanying fantasy got darker and dirtier as she rocked herself into the orgasms she craved.
One unread message.
Chrissie was busy ogling some shoes on the Topshop Online site to notice what anybody else was doing, so Emily hastily typed in her password and clicked on the latest response.
'Hi, I'm Jake' the latest reply read. 'I'm 27 and I'm a young professional. I love cooking, eating out and walking in the Peaks. I'm desperate to make a woman happy both in and out of the bedroom. Get in touch.'
Emily hesitated. She wasn't even sure if this is what she should have been doing, but it was a week since New Year's Eve and despite looking like a sex goddess at the party (actually a burlesque whore complete with corset, fishnet stockings and false eyelashes) Robin had still looked right through her as the midnight bells chimed and the party erupted in delight. Emily had spent a quiet ten minutes crying in the toilets before perking up her blusher and heading back down into the limelight. Since that night she'd only heard from him once when he'd rung, voice choked with tears, to tell her how he loved her and how frightened he was that he could neither commit to their relationship nor bear to see her walk away.
The bell sounded, accompanied by a stampede on the corridors. Emily hastily logged off and gathered her things, but her mind was still online. Should she answer the emails, or wait to see where the journey with Robin would take her? After all, who ever stuck to their resolutions anyway?