She pushed me down on the bed.“You did well, so you deserve your prize.”I could not believe what was happening to me. Miss Miller reached behind h...r, fiddled with her dress behind her back, wiggled her hips like a slow motion hula dancer and her dress slid off her body. She smiled as she reached behind her to remove her bra. It joined the dress on the floor. She smiled and looked down at me.“I can see you like what you see,” she said looking at my crotch. My hard on was very plain to see.“Part. Gotta make open at bottom to suck air.” I stillremembered his words, and it was a lucky thing I did, forPapa never let me build a fire myself. I grew up in whatcould best be described as a traditional Catholic familywhere men did the hunting and the women stayed in thekitchen. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that bad, but Papaand Mamma did teach us very clear lines of divisionbetween the sexes. This applied to the summer campingtrip as well as our everyday lives. The making of acampfire. More

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