Mrs. Lambfinger was hot.She'd be talking about calculating radiuses and angles and stuff, but all I could do was look at her in her peach-colored, pyj...ma-like pantsuits, their bell bottoms swaying behind her as she strode from one end of the chalkboard to the other, and contemplate the glorious reality underneath it all.What was it that I found so entrancing about her? The girls my age were gawky, bony, skinny faces and big lips sticking out, boobs stuck to them like tennis balls glued on a. A few went off to the skiing, but quite a few girls visited the historical door. The most popular, and this surprised me, was the Victorian one where everyone was encased in layer after layer of petticoats."It's so terribly civilized," Mary, a friend from my Orientation Class said. "We're delicate flowers, doncha know." She grinned at the implied joke. "In truth, though, we're so bound up in clothes that we almost have to be delicate flowers. I had a hard time breathing." That tells me you were. More

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