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.
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