You

You gave me my first cigarette. "Here, suck on this," you said. I choked, it tasted like burn rubber, but I came back for more.

You introduced me to sex as well. "Here, suck on this," you said, your cock flopping in my face.

I didn't want to. I was 15, had been told all my life to say no, but I wanted to keep you. I knew there were other girls who wouldn't say no.

That first night I just helped you to wank, let you come over my hand as I stroked it, but the next time you insisted, we were going out, we should go all the way. When I stepped out of my knickers I felt I was treading the first baby-steps down the path to Hell.

You eased my legs apart, but that was as gentle as you got. I felt it thrusting against me. It really hurt when you entered me and the condom smelt like burnt rubber, but I pretended to enjoy it, to keep you happy. I didn't have to pretend for long.

It was better after that first time. Our affair lasted three months and I came to enjoy sex more than anything else. Then you told me you were going to a new school and it was over between us. Told me that you still loved your wife.

I could have said nothing, cried away your memory, but if I couldn't have you I didn't want your wife to have you. So I told on you.

I had no idea what I'd started. It made the front pages of every newspaper, 'Teacher accused of abusing pupil'. Everyone knew the pupil was me, anonymity doesn't work in a small town.

My days in court were wretched, having to repeat every personal detail, our sex life analysed in every possible detail in the sombre theatre of a courtroom; lawyers asking me about my orgasms, use of contraception and even what music we listened to when we made love. The latter fact was really lapped up by the papers, 'Wham Bam Lover: teacher played George Michael during steamy sex sessions with pupil.' I never said they were steamy.

Afterwards everybody knew me as the girl who'd had sex with the teacher, as the girl who'd squealed on the teacher. As the Wham Bam Lover.

My family had to move to a new town, start a new life. We didn't get the support an offender would get when he came out of prison; no money, no help relocating and finding work.

We managed though. I left school and got a job in a factory. Got a boyfriend my own age.

I thought of you every time a boy let me down, every time I realised how shit my life was. I thought of you when I had the cancer scare - thanks for the bloody fags you bastard.

But mostly I forgot about you, certainly had no idea what had happened to you after you were sentenced.

Until I saw you that time, begging outside Tescos. I wondered for a minute what you were doing here, were you following me? Then I realised, you'd just drifted to London like I had, like so many people do. It was a shock to see you though, a beggar, you'd been the best teacher in the school, 26 years old, a rising star.

You could've been a great teacher, headmaster by now (god help the girls). Instead you were just a rubbish beggar. I'm sorry this is how you ended up, but at least do it right. Sit nearer the cashpoint, make sure they can't avoid you. Make conversation, catch their eye. Get a fucking dog.

I slipped £5 into your plastic cup and hurried past. I hope you didn't recognise me.