Malone, my English teacher, had just completed her lecture on contemporary American literature. But I was only 18 It was an early spring day in Maine. And that slight hump just above her crotch, promising delights beyond my imagination if only they would all be exposed. Not only her tits, but her ass – how it flowed beneath her dress. Every move she made added to my growing imagination of what I would like to do to her. The indecision did not really matter – regardless of what contained them, they looked great from my seat. Sometimes they appeared to act independently, other times they appeared to work in tandem. I tried, but failed, to decide whether they were enclosed in a bra or not. Throughout her talk, all I could see were her boobs bouncing up and down inside her blouse.
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