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“How do I look?” she asked, doing a little twirl on the toes of her shiny black boots.
“Just Peachy,” I said.
“Peachy?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re so old,” she replied. “Do you like the lipstick? Too much?” she asked as she puckered up.
“Depends. What do you plan on doing with it?”
“Hopefully something naughty,” she said as her tongue ran over her pearly whites.
Lo was all decked out for a date she had with a new gentleman caller. About a half hour earlier she had emerged out of her steamy shower, silky smooth down below. She showed me saying, “Hopefully he’ll appreciate this.”
“You are eager for him to get up your skirt,” I said, nonchalantly, though I was upset that she wasn’t offering it to me.
“So eager that I’m not going to wear panties.”
“Why don’t you shave for me? Only when you’re going on dates?”
She walked up to me and made a pouty face, and teased, “Oh, is my ole man jealous?”
“No,” I said, “Not jealous. But I appreciate a slick, wet, whistle just as much as the next guy.”
“I know,” she said condescendingly. “But don’t you like my muff too?”