“I have the memories of his childhood, youth, and college, of being in the NFL, of his married life, of his children who were grown and had families... of their own, and I have the memories of his pain at the death of his wife from cancer four years before his own death. I know what accomplishments he was proud of as well as what he regretted about his life. Those memories have tempered the way I look at life now. I have a fourteen-year-old body and mind, with the memories and understanding of a. We all got along very well , among them there was Mr. J , he was not so bad looking , he had a masculine beard and was tall approx 6’3 . As far as I know everyone stares at my boobs so it was not a big deal . I caught Mr. J staring many times but he was not hesitant he still used to keep staring . It was our finals and our portion was almost over , we started coming to class early in morning for self studies . Usually me , Mr. J , looks and some of his friends came at morning . Still instead. " OK, Miss," Ned grinned.About twenty minutes later Ned heard Ophelia call him, and he went out to where she had been working."Where's the girls room?" she asked."Over there," said Ned, and indicated a door which gave onto a short passage, at one end being an external door and to one side a w.c. cubical."Do you need a hand?" No, I can manage, thankyou very much." But she didn't say it pleasantly.Ned returned to his work, but was interrupted a couple of minutes later by Ophelia's wheelchair. Then she stepped into the bodice of the suit, which was stiffened and gave her a waspy waist and pushed up and supported her breasts without a bra. She pulled on the satin and lace knickers and smoothed them in place over her nylon full briefs so that it looked like she was wearing sheer tights.She pulled down and adjusted the little lace-ruffled skirt that was attached the bodice. It hardly covered anything and was more like a ballerina’s tutu than a proper skirt.She had already fixed her.