I can not imagine a class more boring than senior English. Who cares about people who died hundreds of years ago? Who cares about how to write a sonnet? Who cares about literature? Just boring trivia, nothing I will ever need to know. It takes all my effort to stay awake in that class.

But you had to admit, Ms. Gabriel made it all worth it. She is my teacher, and I couldn't imagine a better one. For looking at, at least. She was short, just over five feet, with smooth, toffee-colored skin and dark brown hair that flowed smoothly over her shoulders. Her sculpted face was pretty in a very feminine sort of way, with thin lips, big brown eyes and a small nose. Despite her conservative clothing, the rest of her body was just as stunning, with breasts that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo.

I'm sure she was also a good teacher, at least if you were interested in English. Ms. Gabriel was quite passionate about what she did. She clearly loved what she did. Unfortunately, I did not, and often daydreamed (attempting to avoid actually dreaming) about her during lectures. It was at one of these times that she called on me.

"John, could you please come write your example sentence on the board?"

Oh no. I had a raging hard-on and no sentence to write.