Strain
Walk the walk, not talk the talk.
Cheeks flushed, I adjust my glasses, trying to keep my composure. I’m still waiting for a reply from anyone, hoping against hope, despite years of experience, that one of my students might raise their hand for once. They say hope dies last. But, well, it still dies, right? Almost ready to designate a volunteer by myself to come to the blackboard, the surprise of the big-titted bimbo raising her hand hits me deep. Who woul...