" I turned to go in the living room and there was my ninth grade history teacher, Ms. Lynch, sitting on the sofa. "Hi, Ms. Lynch, remember me, Russell...Bryan?" "Of course, Russell, how have you been?" "Oh, good, I just need to do some make-up work for Mrs. O'Keefe, that's all. Still on the honor roll." "Good, we're just going over some assignments for our classes. Sit down," and she patted the spot next to her. Ms. Lynch was pretty, very pretty. I had a crush on her when I was in her class and,. .“, she started after a while. “My dear little s*s.“ Her tone was almost toxic. “What shall I say? That is her. Always was.“ After a short break she added: “And the other one is absolutely right. I have asked myself the same question: What does a guy like you want with or from her?“ I grinned at her. “What do you mean? A ‘guy like me‘? Shouldn’t you be on her side?“ She laughed out loud. “You know that Sandy and me are very close. She tells me everything. For example that she regularly fucks a. More

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