In my last year of high school, I had a literature teacher whom we called Miss Henson. She was about thirty-three, quite good looking, although somewhat conservative we all thought. She had a habit of sitting on the end of her desk, and talking for hours with us about the novels, poems and literature we were studying.
I was well into lingerie by this time of my life. However, other than the odd feel of a girlfriend’s panties or soft half-slip, my sexual adventures were somewhat commonplace, and so the discovery that one of my teachers