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God Bless Miss Finch
by Tony R. Lindsay

My first venture into the realm of hormonally influenced judgment occurred in the fifth grade. My class went on a field trip to a local fire station. I made sure to be directly in line behind Miss Finch, my lithe young teacher. When she climbed a spiral staircase, I was below her. She wore a sunshine-yellow pleated skirt. A thin petticoat of stiff, white, lacy material caused it to balloon outward. She ascended the steps with me following. I turned my head heavenward to peek under her dress.

Holy moly!

Exposed to my gaze was the sight most avidly desired by boys, yet the most denied. Her nylon stockings reached above her knees, held up by straps that became lost in her clothing near her waist. Above the stocking tops I saw the inside of a woman’s thigh. She wore white nearly transparent panties. Secreted within those flimsy, silk threads reposed the nameless “it.”

Jeepers, Batman and Robin!

When she realized I had stolen a look under her dress, her face reflected surprise, then amusement, and finally a smile that twinkled into to a mock scolding expression.

God bless Miss Finch wherever she may be.