She approached the top of the stairs and I realised it was Her school blouse She was wearing, done up enough at the top to cover Her bra (years and ye...rs later it occurred to me She might not have had Her bra on....)but not Her cleavage. The blouse – micro-minidress – was so short I could see all Her stocking-tops and lovely legginess, and She started to walk down the stairs. It felt like pressure was building in my head so that it might explode at any minute, and I was literally seeing red, my. Come on girls. I think were done with work for the year, she said in her thick British accent waving a cigarette in the air. She called us all girls as a kind of tongue-in-cheek derogatory thing. I suppose it got her off to some degree. By the look of things, and the half-empty bottle, she had already knocked back a few shots. She brushed my legs of the desk and sat down on its edge. Somebody find some cups and, Eren, my love, she looked to me indicating toward the vodka, pour that bad boy out.. More

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