"Uh, not really Ms. Jones." *fidget* *squirm* *tug* "I... um... something came up this weekend, an' I..."
"Nonsense; Virginia, that's not like you. Now, come on, start us off with your poem."
Jim watched excitedly as Virginia got reluctantly to her feet. There was no doubt about it, her shirt stubbornly rode up out of the waistband of her jeans, no matter how she tucked and poked at it. Jim forgot his priapism for a moment, thrilling at the sight of unusual lines visible through the fabric of Virginia's shirt in back. Bra lines! Virginia's brassiere was digging into her narrow, pretty little back.
A faintly blushing and very uncomfortable Virginia turned to face her English classmates, swept her red hair out of her face, and fumbled for her poem. Now Jim could see an insistent line of bare midriff visible between the bottom of Virginia's shirt and the top of her jeans, and there was an unmistakable and unfamiliar dimensionality to the way her blouse stretched across her front.
Virginia's shaky hands rested on the podium; she licked her lips, twitched her shoulders uncomfortably, and began to read.
Fri Feb 8 22:31:11 2002