They looked at each other again - nervously, I thought - and then Marci finally blew out a pent-up breath. “Okay, here goes... and don’t get upset... okay, because it’s just a question.” If she was trying to be sure she had our full and undivided attention, she succeeded. We waited, perhaps more warily than we had been a moment before. I tried to smile, to encourage her, because she seemed so uncharacteristically nervous. She smiled back, and visibly relaxed. “What we were wondering is, if you. 'SWISH .. SWATTT!' "Yeeeooowwwcccch!" She squealed, jumping to her feet, with both hands clamped to her well striped behind. She was no longer my teacher. I was the teacher and she, merely a schoolgirl dancing on the end of my cane. It was time to be strict with her. "Touch your toes, girl," I barked, my free hand on the back of her neck and forcing her back down. “I won’t tell you again.” She looked at me with a mixture of pleading and pleasure as she resumed her position with her bottom high. More

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