We were in the bedroom closet with the dirty clothes pushed to the corner. Tiny soldiers on the wallpaper stood guard all around the door, to warn if anyone was coming in. If you keep your socks on, you cannot do anything. Keep your socks rolled up and pants may be lowered or rolled up too. Playing not very dirty games with the dirty clothes, soft touching one another to assist at non-disrobing reveals. Not nearly with everything hardly off. Dare to draw the line then push it slightly. Tension but not knowing of what. Almost caught, caught at what, we know not.
The Green One-Piece came with rear ruffles to conceal round young dutch ample white bottom which in truth only served to accentuate a new fullness. Mostly though Green One-Piece came with cleavage, a summer of cleavage, the first summer of cleavage. Cleavage did not exist previously, so far as I was aware, at least not of the sort which Green One-Piece brought with it that summer of cleavage.
The game came after swimming, skin still moist, Green One-Piece and Blue Speed-o watching a TV show afternoon rerun Gilligan and his gang or Hogan and his heroes. The TV mostly hid the games grunts and giggles, mock shrieks and got-you’s. The ostensible game goal solely to take the throw pillow, by which much effort necessarily necessitated gratuitous inadvertent feels and feelings, pokes and rubs.
At some point Green One-Piece would be flustered enough to declare time to go home. Blue Speed-o retreats to the closet and finds other uses for a sock. And Sandy, she became a cocktail waitress in Vegas. Then she got married, had kids and moved on back – but not in that order. Cluck and grunt, wreck em, make em cry with whistle berries on the side, in that order. I write here in search for Green One-Piece, but of course there is nothing appearing on the screen which satisfies.