Go out for a meal

You can’t face sitting in this mausoleum of memories. You need to get out. But first you need to change. Not in the master bedroom. You know you should move into the master bedroom, but you can’t face that tonight. You stick to your old bedroom and change in that, into casual clothes. Then you open your laptop to find a good place to eat. The pub from your youth has changed names and ownership several times since you last lived here, but it’s still open and has surprisingly good reviews for its food. It’s now called the Drowned Guppy.

It's a 10-minute walk into the centre of town, as dead and as uninteresting as you remember it. The pub itself is mainly empty, a couple of families to one side with food, a couple of locals at the bar. Only one of the locals is worth paying attention to, a chubby woman with blond, fuzzy hair, in her thirties, although dressed as if younger. A miniskirt of denim, that struggles to control her wide thighs and large ass. A red V-neck top that reveals the deep chasm of her cleavage. She watches you with interest as you order a pint and then a burger and chips. You move to a free table and sit there scrolling through your phone while you wait for your food to arrive.

“Hello, stranger, you mind if I sit here?” It’s the woman from the bar standing over the table, a glass of white wine in her hand and a sultry look in her hazel eyes. She leans down to put the glass on the table revealing a fantastic glance into the depths of her cleavage. She sees where you’re looking and leans further to give you a better look. That alone should be a reason to say no, but the monster in your trousers takes over. You’re gesturing to a seat opposite you before you realise what you’ve done. “And what brings a stranger like you to the Drowned Guppy?”

“I needed something to eat, and there was nothing in the house.”

“You live round here? I haven’t seen you before. I’d remember if I’d seen you before.” She’s oozing sultriness, her voice deep and soothed by smoke, her eyes low, peering at your through her eyelashes.

“Kind of. I grew up here, but I’ve been living in _____, but I might be moving back.”

“Sounds promising. There’s a remarkable lack of handsome men like you in this town.”

At that moment the barman arrives with your burger and chips. He puts the plate before you, along with cutlery wrapped in a napkin and condiments. “Leave him alone, Krystal. Let him eat in peace.”

“Oh, that’s ok. You can stay,” you tell her.

“That’s cute of you. As you heard, I’m Krystal.”

She holds out her hand.

“John” you reply and shake it.

“And before you ask, I’m not a prostitute.”

“What? I never said you were.”

“I know, but I could see you thinking it. I’m not a prostitute. I’m a teacher.”

“Like me, or like I might be. Had an interview today. At St Perpetua’s.”

Her eyes widen. “The history position?” You nod. “Well, they do need a history teacher. They didn’t tell you why they got rid of Miss Wandering?”

“Who?”

“Miss Wandering, the previous history teacher. She was sacked a couple of weeks ago, very sudden, and it’s all hush hush. I asked but they wouldn’t tell me. They just called me in and told me to lock her account and send everything she did to the board.” You look at her confused. “Oh, yes, silly me. I also teach at St Perpetua’s. IT. I also look after the school’s network.”

“So, we might be working together?”

“Yes, I hope so. How well did you do?”

“No idea, although I got the impression they weren’t too keen on me. Told me I was too young. And too male.”

“They don’t like employing young, male teachers. But then again, they’re pretty ****. Wrong time of year to be looking for teachers. Just before the school year starts. Any teacher of merit is pretty much finished in preparing the first term. I’ve heard they’re struggling to even get anyone for interview. So, I don’t think your youth and maleness will preclude you from an offer.”

“You’re saying I might get the job because they can’t find anyone better?”

“Yep.” You don’t know what to make of that. True, it’s not like you were seeing the job as your future. Then again, it was the only positive future ahead of you. Was getting the job by default worse than not getting the job at all? Especially when your interest was purely by default.

Krystal sees your reaction and laughs. “You were interviewed by Mrs Oversight and Dr Stricture? If I know those two old women well, and I’ve worked with them for years, if they don’t think you’re up to the job they won’t employ you, even if you’re the only candidate. They’d just prefer someone who isn’t as young as you and isn’t as male as you.”

Krystal carries on describing the school. You admit to her that you know a fair bit of this, because you grew up in the town, and that leads her discussion through the school’s connection to the town. She likes to talk, and she likes to flirt. Every so often she leans over to give you a repeat glance down her cleavage. She regularly flutters her hazel eyes, and whenever you admit your knowledge of something she’s telling you she pouts seductively. You find her fun to be around. She’s energetic and salacious and you can’t help wondering what she looks like without her clothes.

When your food is finished you have another pint, just so you can keep on talking to her. But the day has been long, and food and beer take their toll on top of the excitement and early start you’ve had.

“You could come back and have another drink at my place,” Krystal suggests. It’s tempting.

“I’ve had a long day,” you reply. “And there’s another long day tomorrow.”

She looks disappointed but understanding.

“Well, I hope you get the job. We need men like you in this town. It needs some excitement. If you do get the job, my recommendation, is don’t sleep with the students. Stick to the staff.” Then she gives you a knowing wink.