toward me and she had her bikini top on, along with about a dozen bandages. Then she reached behind her. “Don’t get worried,” she said, and untied the back string. As she untied the neck string, she said, “It’s just too hot.”
She let her bikini top fall to the closet floor.
I stood there gaping at her naked back, stunned and thrilled and scared, hardly able to believe that she had actually taken off her top in front of me.
This had never happened before.
Maybe because we’d never been alone together.
She spread some hangers apart. As she reached out for a blouse with her right arm, she turned her body slightly. Just in front of her armpit, and a little lower, was a pale, smooth slope—the side of her right breast.
She probably didn’t know I could see it. And I only did see it for a moment before she pulled the blouse off the hanger and turned away again.
Turned away so that both her breasts were facing the closet. I couldn’t see them, but I sure knew they were there.
They’d be in plain sight if only I were standing in the closet.
Please turn around, I thought. Please.
I suddenly hoped something would happen to
But I didn’t. As much as I ached for Slim to turn around, I didn’t want to do anything that might make her think less of me.
She turned around.
Her blouse was already on, however, and most of the buttons were fastened.
I hoped I wasn’t blushing too badly when she looked up at me. “How’s this?” she asked.
Her long-sleeved blouse was black and made of a shiny fabric. Somewhat too large for her, it hung down so low it almost hid the front of her cut-off jeans.
“That oughta keep you from being seen,” I said.
“Does it look weird?” she asked.
“Looks great.”
“I mean, with my shorts. A long-sleeved blouse ...”
“Do you have a black skirt?”
She made a face at me. “I have one, but I’m not about to wear it.”
“Long jeans?” I suggested.
“It
“It’s fine.”
“How about if I do this?” She rolled the sleeves halfway up her forearms. Then she turned her back to me, unfastened her cut-offs and tucked in the tails of her blouse. Zipped and buttoned, she faced me again. “Better?”
Pulled tight and smooth, the blouse showed every contour. The smooth mounds of her breasts were tipped with stiff nipples.
“You look fine,” I said.
She frowned. “What?”
Before I could say anything, she turned around and looked at herself in the mirror. Her frown deepened. Her hands came up and she touched her nipples. “Can’t go around like this,” she said.
In the mirror’s reflection, our eyes met.
I shrugged.
Her hands slid down below her breasts, clutched her blouse and pulled it upward, dragging its tails out of her cut-offs. When she stopped, it was still tucked in but now had plenty of slack in it. No longer taut against her breasts, it draped them but didn’t reveal every detail.
Her eyes again met mine in the mirror. “Better?” she asked.
I nodded.
She turned around and came to me, a smile spreading over her face. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure.”
“You seem awfully nervous.”
“I do?”
