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She stared at me incredulously, grinning from ear to ear. “You will?” “I will, but I want to see what you want me to wear.” “It’s upstairs.” Her excitement was palpable. “Well, let’s go see it.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before taking my hand and leading me up the stairs. In the bedroom, I opened the bag she handed to me. Well this would be a first. I had never before worn a halter top, much less a golden one. A tiny leopard print mini skirt, a shiny thick black belt, black. I'm on my back on the ground covered in mud; I look up seeing Cindy withher knee on my chest. "Hey let me up, I don't want to hurt you." Hehehe Ihear Cindy giggling then the other girl's joining in."In case you didn't notice sissy boy you're the one on your back in themud, and you can't move hehehe." I listen to her giggling. "Are youreally a boy? Karen pull his shorts down so we can see if he is really aboy or wearing panties like us girls."I hear her and I try to struggle to get free but I'm. I'm just more comfortable like this. I hate wearing clothes, and figure I can be more productive if I'm not bound by the restrictions of textile." Just then Margaret interjected, just as I was starting to speak, "We can't have you going around looking like some kind of trollop and interfering with everyone else's work." I again, just put my hand up, then started to speak. "I have to partially agree with both of you on this one. You are right, Becky, there is no dress code and ultimately, what I. How has she done this to me with mere words? The immediate understanding between us? The words. The very act of writing. The writing is our safe little world, where there are no constraints. Our little secret. To have a collaborator, so intimate. Like whispering in each others ears. We awaken these things in each other. Hers, lost and now found through my words. Mine uncovered, like curtains being drawn back and revealing what was always there but hidden. Sweet and gentle discovery! Sudden and.
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