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Albert Harris, an eighteen-year-old at the Wilkinson School for Young Men had struck gold. It was dusk on an unusually hot day in Manchester, and young Albert had discovered a number of Cavendish School for Young Women girls swimming naked in a secluded section of the Bridgewater Canal.

It wasn't the first time he'd watched them.

They had no idea they were being spied upon. Hiding in the bushes, not 10 meters away, Albert had an unobstructed view of the frolicking, nubile Cavendish girls. Their blossoming breasts were bouncing. "Damn," he said half aloud, "Alice Palmer has big ones. And look at Agatha McCormick, she sure has a hairy muff."

Yes, in that time period, ‘muff' replaced ‘quim' as a common euphemism for vagina, and definitely not used in polite company.

"Did you say something?" Albert wasn't alone. Standing over his shoulder was Cordelia Sanders, the nurse at the Cavendish School and responsible for the girls extracurricular behavior. Swimming naked was not on the approved extracurricular list.

"The girls will have to pay, but so will you. I'm sure the headmistress will be very displeased with you, young man."

Two hours later, Albert Harris was in Headmistress Daisy Roberson's office. "You were spying on those innocent girls?"

Albert didn't think they were so innocent. "Um, ma'am, I-I . . ."

"Don't try to make excuses for your behavior. You'll come to my home on Saturday. By then I should have decided upon a suitable punishment for you."

Fifty-eight-year-old Daisy Roberson never married. She'd dedicated her life to education. Just five years ago, for the first time, she asked a student, Will Booker, "have you thought about tasting my muff?"

Skimming through those magazines and pornographic books the boys read and looked at that she had confiscated, she'd come across the word ‘muff' numerous times. It wasn't difficult to discern that it was a synonym for vagina. She thought it was disgusting, but she wanted to make sure that Albert understood what she was talking about.

Will Booker had been a quick learner and spent hours under her dress. His tongue was magical, and did things to her that she never thought possible.

He graduated and Miss Roberson had not found the right student to ask the question, but here was Albert Harris who spied on young, innocent girls. Shame on him.

As he stood in front of her, she just knew Albert was the right one. "Mr. Harris, have you thought about tasting my muff?" She hiked up her dress above her knees and spread her legs.

Except when Will Booker came to entertain her muff, she never even consider dressing as she was now. She wasn't wearing stockings, and her knickers were covered in daisies. She'd found them in a small shop in London. Now, she had a chance to show them off. Show them off for your young Albert Harris. Better yet, took them off for Arthur Harris.

"I-I, Ummm . . ."

"Albert, you don't have to spy. My muff is yours to look at and more if you want. Why don't you get on your knees?"

Daisy Roberson stood over the shocked Albert Harris and took off those daisy covered knickers. Then she sat back down. "I may not be young like those Cavendish girls, but like them I have a muff. Go ahead, Albert, take a good look."

Like any young man, Albert Harris was curious, besides he'd been caught spying on naked girls. He could be in real trouble.

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