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At last, though, he pulled me back up and onto his lap.“What are you doing?” as to his reaching around me.“It’s wet,” pulling up my top. “You’ll catch a cold.”Had I been prepared, I’d have stopped him, but it was so sudden.This too,” meaning my bra.Alice Jean said a guy can unhook you with a pat on your back, right there by your locker. Just flex your shoulders back. But either Terry wasn’t that good at hooks or I wasn’t that good at flexing. Not that I’d have let him take it, of course, but it also being wet, maybe I’d let him loosen it up.“That’s enough. I’m a girl,” my protest for naught, as he followed my straps up to my shoulders, making me think of these horror movies where the girl gets strangled. A real murderer, however, would stop at your collarbone, not slip your arms out of your shoulder straps.“I’ll get like you, then,” his offer, to which I pointed out was different, but he went ahead.No boy had ever seen my breasts except for Stanley Christiansen when he was my lab. Her mother had died two years earlier before she had a chance to pass on the recipe. She never wrote it down. It took me years of experimenting to finally find it. She recognized the unique aroma and I could see tears in her beautiful brown eyes. I moved to the side, and pulled the chair out for her, and she sat down, ever so gracefully, like a cloud kissing a lily pond. There was not even a ripple, she was like air. I sat in my own chair, and grabbed hold of her hand again, in mine. Her skin was so smooth. It was like silk. Her touch was so light, the only thing that felt real was the emerald ring on her finger, a bright brilliant stone that I had given her five years ago, today. I could see a large balm of tears in her eyes. They were falling, staining the smooth painting of her cheeks. She looked me in the eye again, I can feel how itchy they must be to her. She shook her head gently, sadly. She removed her hand, and it slipped out of her ring. She was gone. I had forgot again..
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