History class wasn't that much different from English: twenty-five desks, twenty-five naked students, one naked teacher who, as in my and Karyn's normal clothed world, was named Mr. Nelson.
Fortunately, Mr. Nelson didn’t share Ms. Watson's habit of sitting on the teacher's desk and spreading her legs. Instead, Nelson often stood with one foot on the floor, one foot on a straight-backed chair, and one elbow on his knee.
The fascinating thing about History class was the textbook. As in the History book Karyn and I remembered, prehistoric people were generally shown wearing animal skins. Then, starting with the Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Greeks, the Romans, and so forth, everyone apparently went naked. Some of it was actually funny, such as the picture of George Washington and his men crossing the Delaware totally naked. The Mona Lisa, Jon learned, had rather spectacular tits. King Henry VIII looked better with clothes on. The Winter Olympics never happened. Somehow, the earth's climate seemed to be milder and less variable than it was in my and Karyn's world.
Mr. Nelson lectured the whole period about social customs in ancient Greece, then the bell rang and it was time for lunch.