Jan was 22.  She climbed up the stairs to the granite-fronted seat of learning in Rosebount Place at 8.40am to begin her first teaching job at 8.45 am. 

She was wearing a belted French-style trenchcoat, light blue, over a blue A-line skirt.  She had on a pretty white blouse, long-collared, open at the neck to show off the silver St Christopher which he had bought her.  On her wrist was one of the engraved silver dress bangles which she'd been given by him over their years together.

Her dark brown paige-boy hair was styled immaculately.  Her lips were lightly-glossed.  She had applied a little Chanel No 7, a gift from her fiance.  Her engagement ring sparkled with the sunlit granite around her.

Nobody would know that his semen was soaking past the ft which she'd put into her little flowery cotton panties at Stonehaven after she'd washed her fanny with a face cloth, leg-up, him watching, at the little sink in the Sleeper. 

She would see to herself in the Ladies at morning coffee break which, her Staff Prospectus confirmed, would be at 10.30.

She'd been fucked about 7.30 that morning as the train was passing Montrose.  She'd been fucked, twice, at about 11.30 the night before as The Clansman was leaving Kings Cross. 

She'd been fucked around mid day before they had checked out of the little Montmartre hotel.  She'd been fucked, in the shower, when they had got up to return to Aberdeen about 9.00 am.

They'd just spent the week in Paris on their first foreign holiday together.  They'd fitted a lot into that August week in 76. They'd bought Rover tickets.  They'd been everywhere.  They'd done everything.

He'd noticed the look of total enthralment on her wide-spaced eyes as they had sat, alone, in the back of the courtesy minibus from Le Gare du Nord to Montmartre on the night they arrived in Paris at about 2 am. 

She'd been staring in wonderment  at the Ladies of the Night who adorned every street corner and who sat at every pavement cafe as they moved from La Pigalle into Montmartre.

She was nipping her lower lip with her top teeth as she took it all in.  Jan had never even been to London before.  Her world exploration, thus far, had stopped at Edinburgh, except for the school cruise when she was 11:  Gdynia, Gdansk and Copenhagen, but through the eyes of a little girl from a small Scottish coastal fishing town.

She was fiance-fucked, squealing and writhing, upon arrival at the little two star hotel.  She was taken out for drinks at the pavement cafes till about 4 am before being taken back to the hotel and fucked twice more before she fell asleep, smiling.

She smiled a lot during the course of that week.

The train had arrived in Aberdeen at a perfect 8.30.  A taxi was quickly hired for the five minute journey up to the school.

Jan was making a perfectly-punctual, just-fucked arrival for her first day at her first job as a Lady Teacher in the Granite City.

He noticed the Sixth Form, all boys, noting, appreciatively, the arrival of their new teacher, only some four years older than them.  One of them gave her a little whistle.

He, as a Senior Honours man, lithe, athletic, rippling with the muscles of his three months of heavy truck-driving-and-delivering summer job and with the pocketfuls of money it brought, wasn't fussed by a few schoolboys. 

Jan knew that they would spend most of their lesson and ALL of their library time trying to look up her skirt and down her blouse.  He had told her that that was what he and his pals did when they were at school. 

She gave them one of her smiles, head tilted to the side.  She would cope.

He knew, however, that it would be politic for him to fuck the arse off her the minute Jan came back to her flat from her first day's teaching, at about 4 o'clock that afternoon, which was duly and athletically seen to. 

He could not have predicted at 20, could he, that 30 years later she would be making her 8.30 punctual Lady Teacherly arrivals up the staircase of another granite-fronted seat of learning in the Silver City with someone else's semen drizzling out of her just-fucked fanny as she stepped out of her little red car by the fence.

He could not have predicted, could he, that by the time she reached 50 she would walk down those front steps at The Nunnery, after her meetings, fanny-freshened, new-knickered, heading for her West End haunts in Aberdeen and the vigorous, urgent, demanding, always bareback penetrations and quick ejaculations of those lines of men, erect cocks in masturbating hands, many of them total, nameless, strangers that she, Jan Stater, went to for pleasuring.

fionnphort boy to fionnphort glow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDcRCJGV3Lk