Well I’ll never forget Miss Burns, that’s for sure. Not for as long as I live! You have to remember that this took place back in the mid 1960’s. As a sixteen year old schoolboy I and my mates had the usual sexual urges, which were very much frustrated for us. We had no internet, no mobile phones, no hardcore porn readily available. My small group of friends were not the types who were popular with girls, we were what you call “nerdy” these days. We were keen consumers of the kind of soft-core stuff that was available – magazines such as Fiesta, Carnival and Girl Illustrated. We would pluck up courage to buy these from a non-local newsagent (someone who didn’t know our parents!) and would share them around between us, hiding copies away in places we hoped our parents wouldn’t find them. I benefited from this as I had a good hidey-hole in the hull of a large model yacht I had in my bedroom, so I often had other friends stashes to hide on their behalf too.
So that’s the general context for the amazing events that took place on the last day of the summer term shortly after my 16th birthday. Miss Burns was a very attractive young teacher at my all-boys grammar school. She must have been late twenties I guess. She was our form teacher, rather than taking any subjects that we were studying – I think she normally took History, though our form was actually based in one of the school laboratories – we had benches instead of desks. It was a sad day for our class as we all liked her and this was both our last day in that form, and Miss Burns’ last day at the school as she and her husband were moving to Southampton.
My friends Mark and Bob and I had stayed fairly late that afternoon; everyone else in our form had gone home just after lunch – well it was the last school-day of the year.* We had been helping the geography teacher filing maps after the juniors had messed them up, so we returned to a quiet and empty form room surprised to see Miss Burns still there, sitting behind the tutor’s desk and staring wistfully into the middle distance.
“Oh, hi boys,” she said. “I hoped I’d catch you. I just wanted to say how much I’ll miss you all, but you three especially – you’ve been very supportive and helpful to me while I’ve been here.”
We all responded gratefully to these words and wished her well in her new job. Then, to our amazement she walked over to the classroom door and pulled down the blind – this being a lab it was equipped to reduce light for relevant experiments. Then she locked the door. “I have a treat in store for you all. I know a bit about 16 year old boys, and I’ve heard you talking about girls and discussing those magazines of yours!* Yes, it’s alright. No-one else on the staff knows; but sometimes you need to be more careful about who can overhear you! I was thinking about how I could really thank you and I know I’ve come up with something you won’t forget…”
We looked at each other, wondering what was in store. She came and stood in front of us. She was wearing a light pink summer suit – jacket and knee-length skirt. Under this she had a plain white blouse. She had pink shoes of a similar shade to the suit and white stockings (we could be pretty sure that most of the female teachers didn’t wear tights, they were a rather new fashion at the time). With her mid brunette hair cut in a bob, she looked fabulous as usual.
“Come closer boys,” she commanded, and we complied. She took off her jacket and laid it over the nearest bench. “You’re all pretty obsessed with women’s breasts aren’t you? That’s about all you see of naked women in your magazines isn’t it? (This was true; even the most explicit magazines we could get hold of never showed anything “down there”; some had pictures of girls apparently nude and with legs apart but they had been airbrushed so they looked like shop mannequins). We just stood mute.