Passing Mrs. Bellman later, on the first floor, I retrieved my mail from the slender slot on the wall with my name on it. ‘Good afternoon Mrs. Bellm...n,’ I greeted politely, mail in hand, attempting to pass her in the narrow hall. ‘Robert, are you sleeping well?’ She inquired, in the formal, call-you-by-your proper-first-name way that old ladies do, striking me uncomfortable. ‘Uh…yeah,’ I stammered, ‘sure, and yourself?’ ‘Oh…fine Robert…thanks for asking,’ she waved at me, sounding somehow. She stands five foot 5, long beautiful blonde hair, wearing a pick button up shirt with two button undone showing off her cleavage, high heels, and a blue skirt that goes past he knees. A lot of the boys fantasize about her all the time in class and wish for a class with her even though they don’t know what she teaches. “Good morning student!” Mrs. Welsting says in her energetic, smooth, lovely voice, “How was all you’re morning?” The class replies with happy greetings and sly remarks of. More

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