New Lesson

I couldn't agree with you more, Mom; I'm definitely too old to have a babysitter. High school senior John Thomson was eighteen years old. His memory of the last time a babysitter was available was completely blank.
"Apparently you're not."
"Mother, I said I was sorry. I said it wouldn't happen again."
Last week, his parents left John home alone and returned to find him hosting a fairly rowdy party. There was utter chaos in the house. All sizes and shapes of Coca-Cola cans littered the floor. The two neighbors had voiced their displeasure with the loudness. Even more disturbing was the presence of cigarette burns on the couch; he was well aware that smoking was strictly forbidden in the house, much less letting a cigarette fall into the furniture. Even if he denied smoking, it was mostly irrelevant. Permitting a buddy to flick a lighted cigarette into the couch was plainly an example of his lack of maturity and good judgment. It was almost as if the entire home had caught fire! To put it mildly, they were extremely upset. A threat to "teach him a lesson" was their way of expressing their displeasure and anger. As long as he maintained his adult demeanor when they were out of the house, they would treat him accordingly.
"I've asked Miss Noriss to come over and sit for you."
"Miss Noriss?!" One of their neighbors, Miss Noriss, expressed her displeasure with the disturbance. That was part of the reason Mrs. Thomson requested that she sit down. On the other hand, there was a very valid reason to approach her specifically. To some extent, she went beyond the role of neighbor. She served as John's sixth-grade instructor. Having one of your primary school instructors babysit you is a great way to show that you're still a child at heart. She was the perfect fit for our lecture about maturation and development.
Mrs. Thomson glanced down at her scowling son and said, "Now, try not to seem too distressed." Her son had already voiced his feelings towards her. Even at the age of twenty-one, he was short. Actually, his mom was two inches taller than him. She pointed out, "As I recall, you had quite the crush on her when you were a little boy."
The recollection, which John's mother always seemed to relish, caused his face to flush scarlet. It was, however, absolutely accurate. Despite the fact that she was also his neighbor, his sixth-grade love for her remained unquenched. He used to drop by her house frequently as a boy and volunteer to do anything she wanted, whether it was run errands, assist with gardening, feed her pet while she was away, or anything else.
The puppy's affection did not annoy or upset Miss Noriss. Many young males couldn't help but develop romantic feelings for her. The woman had lovely features: long, wavy brown hair, big, wide hazel eyes that sparkled behind her glasses, flushed red cheeks with charming dimples that showed up whenever she smiled—which she did frequently—and a charming demeanor overall. Her popularity knew no bounds. She wore perky s that accentuated her slim skirts and legs, as well as her large, noticeable breasts, which she concealed under her suit coats. To the joy of the guys, though, she would take off her jacket as soon as the classroom got warm.
When the little guys had crushes, she would just be patient with them. They would outgrow them, especially once they moved on to sixth grade and she was out of their line of sight. Because Johny could see her so regularly outside of class, his thoughts had lingered longer than others.
"Mother, this is really, really embarrassing."
"Well, you should have thought about that before you decided to have your friends over to burn down the house when we left you alone."
"They didn't burn the house down."
"Are you getting smart with me, young man?"
"No, mother."
"If you like, we can have Miss Noriss come over every time you're here by yourself."
"That's not necessary."
"Well, we'll just see. If Miss Noriss reports that you were a good little boy, behaved yourself, and minded her, then perhaps we can trust that you will act your age, behave maturely, and behave responsibly the next time we have to leave you home alone. Now, proceed upstairs and change into your pajamas, as Miss Noriss will be arriving shortly. now."
"Pajamas? I have to put on pajamas." He stopped donning pajamas a few years ago. He thought they were too young and naive. Even when he wore them, his parents and guests would never be able to recognize him.
I want you to be ready for nighttime, so let me reiterate: "Yes, you do." Miss Noriss' kindness in dropping by on such short notice was greatly appreciated. Getting ready for bed is at least a little gesture of thoughtfulness. "You will regret it John." So, go upstairs and change into your pajamas right away.
"Ah mom!" However, her face and his father's presence made their voices clearly audible. Honestly, he wasn't given many options. He kept up with his high school studies and lived at home even though he was eighteen years old. That is his. His father's words echoed in his mind: "When you are under my roof, you play by my rules!" In response, he dragged his feet along the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom, feeling infantilized and unfairly treated. establishing rapport.  His companions would never accept it. To be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to tell his. They could find it humorous, and he might never get over it. Jot it down.
At least his jammies were as grown-up as they could be. They had a matte black finish. He questioned whether it would be so terrible as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. They weren't bad-looking at all. These were the regular pajamas that Hugh Hefner wore. No one dared to challenge his manhood. Clearly, the materials used to make them were silk, not cotton. On the other hand, these weren't terrible.
His mom was yelling, "Johny!" "Get up!" from the foyer. "Your sitter is here, and we have to go." We must leave. Come on down and introduce yourself.
He sighed heavily as he made his way to the staircase, where he sJohnped down the steps in his socks, feeling incredibly innocent.
Looking at her brought back a flood of memories from sixth grade, and he felt much worse about himself.
"Hello, Johny," Miss Noriss said with a nice grin, her dimples showing. John had been one of the smallest boys in her class, and he was still fairly tiny for a guy. She knelt down and kissed him on the cheek. I will sit in your place tonight. What a fantastic idea!"
But let it be known that Miss Noriss was not in one of her business suits; on the contrary, she wore a figure-hugging pink summer dress with wide-open shoulders and straps so thin that they barely held it up—not that her dress required much support, anyway. It drooped low over her breasts, exposing a rather nice cleavage—more than he had ever seen before, and even more so when she leaned over to greet him. His mouth dropped open in surprise as he thought the tops of her breasts were almost peeking out of her dress.
"I really like your pajamas. They remind me of James Bond's PJs from one of his movies. Were you attempting to pull off a James Bond impression?"
He gazed at her without emotion. He responded with a simple, "No. No. I wasn't." It was quite childish of him to try to seem like James Bond in his pajamas. Not wanting to make things worse, he considered saying that they looked like Hugh Hefner's pajamas.
"Well, I think you look very handsome in them."
He remained silent.
"Johny," his mom reportedly remarked. "What do you say to Miss Noriss?"
No, I don't think this would be very enjoyable. What if you could relive your childhood and feel the delight all over again? The submissive response he mustered was, "Thank you, Miss Noriss."
She leaned down again, smiled at him, and reached out her hand.
As they shook hands courteously, he returned her grin with an equally uncomfortable one, his gaze shifting to her bust; even with this slight motion, the tops of her breasts jiggled slightly.
Recollections of his youth rushed back to him, including the times he admired her ample bosom, which seemed like it wanted to jump out of her fitted blouses and undo all the buttons. Sometimes he and his pals would wager on whether or not the button would really fall out of its grasp. Although they came perilously near on many times, none of them were able to pull it off. It was annoying whenever she hovered over you to solve an issue. A little more sincerity had crept into his grin.
His mother expressed her happiness that her son was starting to feel better about the situation. While Miss Noriss helped her put on her coat, Mr. Thomson turned to her. "He became enraged when I instructed him to don his pajamas, but I believe he enjoys displaying them to you."
"Mother!" John yelled out. We really need to mo