It started in a bar, as these things often do. There was the usual group of us. It was Cory’s birthday and it was lunchtime. We were playing dare. I initiated it, like always.

The usual soft dares to start off with. Flash your tits. Show your ass. That kinda thing. And, like always, as the cocktails went down, the dares got more daring.

I dared Cory to dip a tit in her Mai Tai and let Melissa suck it. I got such the fucking thrill as she did it. The bar wasn’t packed but it was busy. At least half a dozen people saw her do it. And a few of them cheered.

The loudest cheer came from a guy at the bar. He was a lot older than me. Maybe by ten years or more. Big forearms, veined and inked, sleeves rolled back. Dark eyes. Black hair slick in a ponytail. And he had a few days’ stubble. His face really could have been chiselled from rock. His grin of appreciation as he watched Mel take Cory’s tit into her mouth made me wet. He looked like a man who would tell you what to do.

‘Goose him,’ Cory said, her turn to dare.

‘Easy.’ I got to my feet. And this would be easy. The door to the toilets was at the end of the bar. I’d goose him as I walked past, get lost in the crowd, then take a much-needed piss. No big dare, really, and I might have complained about that any other time, but the guy was sizzling, if you know what I mean.

I didn’t need any warm-up time. I’d had enough Dutch courage, or perhaps too much, because I didn’t just goose the guy, I hovered around his sweet ass and groped it. Both hands. One nice hard squeeze.

Then I ran for it, giggling all the way to the ladies.

I took the cubicle farthest from the door, locked myself in and giggled some more as I pissed. I imagined the guy grabbing me by the throat, pinning me down and fucking me. I lifted my dress and spread my thighs and touched myself; so hot, so wet, so easy to rub one out. But I stopped. Thought I’d heard something… a breath.

I stayed still, listening. It gave me the creeps. I decided to get back to the bar, pulled up my knickers and flushed.

I opened the cubicle door and saw him standing there. My heart stopped I’m sure. His denim-clad ass was propped against a sink. His arms were folded. His expression… mean. That’s what I got, right there. Mean.

‘You assaulted me.’ His voice was deep, loud in the small space.

‘Yes.’ What else was I supposed to say?

Those dark eyes roved over me. My strappy white dress. My sneakers.

‘I could get you arrested.’

‘I’m sorry, it was just a stupid dare.’

‘Stupid?’

‘A joke. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘You want to be arrested?’

‘Course I don’t.’

‘Then it’s an eye for an eye. Turn around.’

I turned for him, still in the cubicle doorway. My little heart was pounding.

‘Hands on the rail.’

My hands went up and grabbed hold of the rail that ran along the top.

‘What do I do?’ he said to himself.

‘This is the ladies, you know,’ I said.

‘I could fuck you like that.’

I thought, that’s not an eye for an eye, and almost laughed, but my heart was beating so hard, the pain in my middle fucking rocking.

I heard him move, listened to his breathing, close now.

Do it, I wanted to say. Wanted him to fuck me. Wanted someone to come in and catch us fucking.

A single finger touched to the top of my spine and a shudder ran through me as that finger snaked its way down my back. The skirt of my dress lifted a little and warm hands touched to my thighs, to my ass, and he was groping me through my knickers. He squeezed real hard and I moaned for him. Moaned so bad he squeezed harder, so hard I had to grit my teeth.

And then he was gone, only the draught from the door closing.

I slipped back in the cubicle and closed the door, legs spread, my hot brow planted against the cool wall, my hand in my knickers.

His voice was still in my ears, still resonating around the tiled walls. And I was back in the corner at school with the hot sun on my face. Mr Tinley had a voice just like that. I always looked forward to Art. All the girls looked forward to it. He made me stand up for talking. It wasn’t me who’d been whispering, but I took the blame and stood in the corner when he told me to, the hot sun on my face and Mr Tinley’s eyes on my back. He’d put me there a dozen times, along with all the other girls in the class. It was such a thrill during my junior years.

The prospect of leaving school at seventeen and not seeing Mr Tinley again horrified me. I know that probably sounds silly, yet when I reflect on it, I know why. I had nothing at home. In fact, I had really bad shit at home. When I was at school, Mr Tinley liked my work, encouraged me, and gave me a thrill I was too young to understand. And the next stop was to enrol at the local college to take A-levels. That or leave school and get a job. I remember reading the school’s guide to which subjects to study for those going to college or moving into the sixth form. It gave reasons for not choosing subjects. The first reason said Don’t listen to what your parents want you to do. Take responsibility for your own decisions. That had made me laugh. I’d never known my father, and my crazy-bitch mother didn’t care a shit.

The second reason was Don’t choose a subject because your favourite teacher teaches it.

Yeah right. Anyway, it turned out, for the first time ever, that Mr Tinley was to be teaching Advanced Art and Design in the sixth form; so there was no fucking way I was going to college. And I’d been lucky, just hitting the required grades, and then being accepted into the sixth form. His class was full.

In the very first class, he yelled at a girl I didn’t like. She always wore makeup, had stupid eyebrows, big tits and a pear-shaped ass and acted like she was thirty, pouting all the time. Kelly something. She was a bitch. A bitch texting on her phone while Mr Tinley explained how studying lateral thinking can enhance your creative skills.

Miss Wilson, he’d yelled. Yeah, that was her name. Witch Wilson. How could I forget? Miss Wilson, give me an example.

When she didn’t reply, he told her to stand. When she admitted to texting, he ordered her to stand in the corner. I remember the gasps that went up. We weren’t kids anymore, most of us were seventeen going on eighteen, yet she went willingly and with blushing cheeks. She stood in the corner at the front by the window with the sun on her face and Mr Tinley whispering in her ear. He caught my eye when he stepped away from her and held eye contact long enough for me to realise my mouth was gaping. I snapped it shut and I knew from the look on Mr Tinley’s face that I would be in for the same treatment. I remember how hot it made me, how wet I was between my innocent legs.

I came then, in the cubicle, a decent leg trembler. Jesus Christ. That man. That beautiful man.

I opened the door carefully, expecting… hoping hot guy would be there, but he wasn’t. I washed my hands, cooled my face, and returned to the bar. Maybe I’d goose him again on the way past.

When he wasn’t at the bar, I told the girls I needed some air, grabbed my bag and went outside where the heat was unbearable. The hottest day of the year, the forecast had said. I lit a cig and stood in the shade, his voice still in my ears.

Two days after Witch Wilson got the special treatment, I had Mr Tinley’s class again. I’d put on a little makeup, painted my nails blue. He seemed to be more talkative than normal, almost excitable in the way he took the class. I became mesmerised by him. He kept glancing at me. Kept looking at me, so I played with my hair and pretended I was chewing gum. Turned out to be a masterstroke that.

He ordered me to the front of class and held out a big hand in front of my mouth. I cursed myself for not having gum. I wanted to open my mouth and let it fall into his palm. My spit in his palm. He wanted that too. I could tell. His eyes were drooling and I remember so clearly how my cunt flooded for him.

I opened my mouth as wide as it would go and showed him inside. He spent a long time looking, then told me off, said that gum shouldn’t ever be swallowed, that it would clog up my guts. That’s when he touched me. A finger pressed to my stomach. Guts, he said. I almost moaned at that.

When I look back, I think it was that finger to my stomach that awakened my sexuality. A button pressed. I was an adult now, but I’d never done it. Never been touched by a man – or a boy.

He sent me to the corner to snickers from the class. His booming voice silenced them and the pain in my middle was strong. I brought my hands to the front of my skirt and pressed there, and jumped out of my skin when Mr Tinley’s breath hit my neck, his mouth so close to my ear. Stay behind after class, he told me. I’d hitched my breath just loud enough for him to hear.

I’d stood in that corner with sweat on my brow, wondering if he’d whispered the same thing to Witch Wilson. Wondered if he’d fucked her in the store cupboard. Hoped to hell he would fuck me, then hoped to hell he wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.

I dropped my cig into the sand bucket and was about to go back inside when I heard an engine start up. A deep rumbling sound.

A pickup truck, grey and battered and parked a few spaces down, pulled out of the space and turned towards me. I saw him at the wheel. He’d been watching me the whole time.

He pulled up right by the sand bucket, his tattooed forearm resting on the door. He was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see his eyes.

‘Get in,’ he said.