Pose
Every week I watched her. Just one hour a week! How my eyes feasted on her form. I was allowed to look: she was teacher. She stood at the front of the class, twisting herself into a series of crazy postures, which we all struggled vainly, flabbily, to copy. She was perfect. We trembled before her perfection – three old ladies, a skeletal teenager, and me. She didn't seem to notice us: it was as if we were viewing her own private ritual. I stood at the back of the class and stared unashamedly....
Lesbian