It wasn’t a sweet, dulcet tune, the kind he imagined might come from her lips, but rather it sounded melancholy, the words monotonal, like a mantra....Creeping closer he saw her standing in water to her waist, lathering herself with the soap. He stared, agog, as she massaged her small breasts with the suds and then reached between her legs to wash herself there. His instrument lengthened and thickened in his breeches to the point of discomfort. He tried to adjust it with his hand and when that. Conversation. And she asked me what I thought about things... like it mattered, even though I was just a kid. I got the impression, a couple of times, that she was lonely, though I couldn't fathom a woman who looked like that being lonely. Of course I was a kid, and she was an adult. There was a lot I couldn't fathom that summer.What I DID fathom was that she looked at LEAST as good as some of those Playboy Bunnies, and I imagined her in all their poses. I didn't have enough imagination to. More

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