Win, or go away. That was about it, and we all knew it."These guys are good!" Paul began, borrowing, probably inadvertently, the slogan of the Profess...onal Golfers' Association. "They're not just good. They're better than us."I figured Paul had said that for its shock value. --Maybe we were supposed to all jump up and holler "No! No!"But nobody hollered. Facts were facts."They're whipping us, and that shouldn't surprise anybody, because they've won 120 games this year..." One hundred twenty?" I. And now it was as if every hand in the class was upon her body. Sketching her curves and taking in her body in details that only an artist could. He was right. The feeling was intoxicating. The room was completely silent except for the faint sound of pencils against paper and brushes clicking against water glasses. Every so often she would hear his voice from somewhere guiding a student. Drawing their attention to the curve of her breasts, the lines of her back or the delicateness of the soft,. More

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