"Don't Look!"
Lying in a hammock one summer's afternoon with my then girlfriend, her extremely attractive younger sister was goofing around and fell into the pool in her clothes. Much laughter was had. And naturally, a wet T-shirt was too. I shall treasure this moment, I thought to myself, hoping my analytical leer was not too obvious.

"Oh no," cried the mother, coming to the door and handing her a towel, "you're not dripping all over the carpet! Put this on."

This being a rather unihibited household of three sisters and divorced mother, it occurred to me that I might finally glimpse some of the domestic nudism my girlfriend had told me about when we'd discussed modesty in our respective homes. The domestic nudism that had gripped my mind for months. Ohyesohyesohyesohyesohyesohyes...

"Ladyfingers, close your eyes!" shouted the sister and my girlfriend in near unison.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. Yeah, right, I thought, trembling slightly as I raised a hand with fingers just far apart enough to permanently etch a snapshot of my girlfriend's nubile young sister disrobing, cold and wet, onto my optic nerve for the rest of my reproductive life.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Fri 24 Aug 2012, 7:35, Reply)