It was just the thing for sleeping in, for the nights could be chilly, even in July. Then she took out her hairbrush and brushed her hair for fifty strokes. She held onto the brush and took from her pack two long scarves. Then she blew out the candle and groped her way to the bed.The blackness was total, like swimming in ink. She remembered the spooky feeling of being enveloped by the silent, translucent clouds. She thought how lucky she was to spot the candle in the window. She thought about the portrait of the archer, wondering what sort of man he was.Slowly, she drew the hem of her nightshirt up, up around her waist. Her left hand cupped her left breast, while her right hand slipped across her stomach, stroking the skin, finding the short, curly hairs. She pressed her hand against her labia, rocking it back and forth, feeling pleased that they were swelling and growing sensitive. She tried to imagine what it would be like having a man touching her. No man ever had, not there. A. .. and I saw her. I flashed a huge grin, she smiled politely. I turned the mower off so we could talk. I said "are you OK?" then "how do you feel about Thursday?". She said she was just fine, and was wondering when we could move forward. (damn!) There was no reason for me to be shy, so I said "how about Monday afternoon?" She countered with Wednesday, saying she had to get something done, first. I glossed right over that, and we made small talk. In a little bit, her Dad poked his head out the back door and barked out orders for her to get inside and start chores. I'd always figured him as a shoot first / take no prisoners guy. It must have been true, for Bev obediently tucked her tail and turned for HIS house.It was Sunday mid-morning when I got marching orders to get down to the basement and pick up some plastic dishes & and a mug my stepfather had left down there, after a little tool work and a snack. As I was moping down the steps, I turned to the right, cast a quick glance next.
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