The racing bug had bit deep.His dad had been bitten also. He had some surplus CAD/CAM equipment, not quite the current generation, available for the s...op. "We had drafting and manufacturing programs under license, didn't we? I did still design and prototype the odd repair part didn't I? Wouldn't my old shop be ideal for that? Did a milling machine or lathe really know the difference between a machine tool part and a racecar piece?"So I started a secret second job. A second floor workstation. " The delight will be mine I am sure, and you are very kind, Colonel. Umh, can you advise me on Mrs. Fowler's tastes? What should I bring?" I believe she still enjoys sherry wine of the sweet variety." Thank you, Colonel. I will admit that to wait for another year or two until finding a fitting wife is a most disheartening prospect. I am not given to cavorting around loose women, and my only vice is the cards."The latter, my dear Captain, is not a vice but a laudable exercise of the mind. I. Witikar,For apparently answering back and being "un-teachable" he couldn't even teach his wife to stop sleeping around let alone teach a 16yr old hormone driven boy to be quiet during an explanation of "Plant cells".Chris rested against the wall and thought to himself If only I could get out this shit hole, if only I could just take my motorbike and drive off" Chris stood silently entertaining his mind with vivid images of himself blowing up the school with all the teacher still inside it. His. ..do ..it...n...!” Bleep, bleep. Bleep, bleep. “Oh fuck it!” Miss Stevens fell back onto her bottom and turned to crawl over to her bag where her mobile had rudely interrupted the climactic moment. The hapless stable lad was muttering into the ball gag and squeezing his legs together clearly trying finish and release his spunk. Miss Stevens scrabbled for her phone. She had to get it quickly; it might be him. Bleep, bleep. Bleep, bleep. And there on the screen as she shifted the phone in.
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