marge simpson dad

Suffice it to say, Valia wasn’t giving Noah an inch. On the plus side, he had completely forgotten about his magical restraints, as he was too preoccupied with fending her off and trying to circumvent her guard. The effort needed to move never got easier, but it was steadily becoming second nature, and it all came down to stamina. He was doing better than he thought we would. He could also sense how much Valia had dulled during her weeks of recovery, but her skills were sharpening with every clash of their swords. Her muscles, which had softened from bedrest, were regaining their firmness.Eventually, the two of them separated, each gasping for air. “Ready to take back what you said?” Valia teased.

Sarah started up the stairs as her dad called out softly behind her.

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.