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Six months went by and not once had she kissed me like a lover or a wife. She hadn’t joined me in the shower, hadn’t patted me on the butt and was offended the three times I had patted her. I wanted to scream at her, yell, rant, beg or whatever would end the drought! She also all but stopped talking. Conversations with her were marked by short utterances like, ‘Whatever you want.’ ‘I don’t really care’ became almost a mantra. One Friday night at the end of those six months we were invited over. She stood motionless, looking up at me with her big expectant eyes while I undid the buttons of her dress, peeling it back from her shoulders when fully opened.She was not wearing a bra; does not need one.I checked Hannah out to make sure she was still cool. What I saw sent a jolt of excitement rampaging through my skin and bones: the hem of her dress hitched high, her hand inside her panties gently stirring herself.I turned away and dropped down to my knees to face Jess’s hips, pulled down her. The evenings would progress in any number of ways. If the date was not up to Aunt Celestes standards, often because they failed the Kimmy test by being uptight about me, she would summarily dismiss them and Aunt Celeste and I would finish the evening together (more about that later), but if the man was one who Aunt Celeste was attracted to, he would likely spend the night enjoying her charms. At the least I would be close at hand, to attend to any needs they might have, which I daresay, also. It’s just being cheerleaders we knew how to move and excite. We were having a ball. When we got back to our table I can’t tell you how many drinks we had sitting there. Every guy in the place must have bought us one. Needless to say we over indulged. Some guys asked us to dance but we respectfully declined, even Cybil. They announced that they were having a wet t-shirt contest and had a sign-up sheet. Cybil said we all ought to sign up. First prize was five hundred dollars, second was three.
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