It was going to be my very first day teaching at the Woodhill Academy for young ladies and to say I was worried about it was an understatement, terrified was more like it. As I got dressed that morning I couldn't help but admit to myself just how perfect my body was. I was 5'4", weighed around 112lbs my long brown hair cascaded down around my shoulders. It gave me a look that said you are so so sexy and totally fuckable but all of that was sheer crazy nonsense as I was still very much an uptight virgin and after all in 1957 people certainly would never look at me in that shameful perverted way.
At 20 years of age I just barely made it out of college due to my obsession with buying clothes and also due to my incredible good looks it led to all of my harmless flirting with the guys on the football team. So to sum it all up my grades were pathetic, in fact they were worse than pathetic with a grade point average of D minus. I should have easily been denied getting my diploma but my father Earnest Golden 3rd threatened to pull his funding to the school, after that threat I graduated no questions asked. Oh and by the way my name is Alexis Golden, former princess at last years debutant ball. Everthing was going so so perfect for me up until the moment that my entire life was anout to change, but all of that started about five days ago.
"Alexis I've arranged for a teaching job at the Woodhill Academy. Make the most of it."
"Daddy please let me go to our home in Paris. I don't want to work as a teacher. I don't even know how to teach."
"Young lady I spent a small fortune putting you through college and now you need to grow up and behave like an adult."
"I won't go, I won't, you can't make me."
"Alexis, I'm cutting off your allowance until you can prove to me that you are no longer a spoiled brat and besides your new stepmother Vivian also went to Woodhill and she assured me that you'll receive some much needed discipline."
"Daddy that bitch Vivian hates me."
Vivian was a 40 year old gold digging bleached blonde bimbo that somehow managed to convince my dad that I needed a firm hand to learn how to behave as a proper young lady. To be honest I didn't like the way she would look at me and even worse hug me that's when I would tell her to keep her filthy hands to herself. After that episode our relationship went to zero.
"Your going to Woodhill young lady so pack your bags."
Once at Woodhill I was showed to my apartment and handed a rule book that had an unusual heavy emphasis on the dress code. After reading it I soon discovered that it sounded more like a throw back to the Victoria era rather than a modern 1957 version of what life in America was. The code demanded that my dress be exactly 3.75 inches below the knee or suffer disciplinary action. That's when I realized my way out, flout their silly rules and get fired.
A few days later I was given my first class assignment which was too teach a bunch of spoiled rich teenagers about world history which of course I knew absolutely nothing about. I was told that Ms Greta Anderson, the schools dress code disciplinarian would be observing my classroom demeanor. I hadn't met Ms Anderson but I was told she was an uptight no nonsense teacher, knowing that I raised the bottom of my pale yellow dress so that the hem line was now a clear 2 inches above the knee which I was sure would lead to my instant dismissal and back to Paris, problem solved.
