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The young girls breasts joggled as she carefully stepped down the stairs, unsure in her new heels. As Katie successfully made it down to the living room, she looked up and prepared to greet her date. Josh had watched little Katie walk down the stairs in her slutty outfit. He had never seen anything so hot in his life. My God! When had she grown those perfect tits? He could see every detail of her nipples, even the dimpled indentation at the very tips. He got an electric thrill thinking about licking her there, wiggling his tongue into each small pucker. The 17-year-old hastily lifted his eyes from staring at Katies breasts and smiled into her eyes. Hi Katie, you look real pretty, Josh said admiringly. He shifted from foot to foot. Are you ready to go? Katie beamed. Josh was a nice guy. He always seemed to be hanging around their house. Josh and Scott had been good friends for years, and both played on the high-school baseball team. Joshs short black hair and brown eyes contrasted. I climbed out of bed, and went to the window, closing it tightly, but not before a chill breeze swept over my nude body. Yeah, I admit that I had recently taken to sleeping in the nude. It wasn't a conscious decision, just something I had fallen into. For a few days it had often become very warm in the room, despite the chill ocean nights. As a result, I had first dispensed with the blankets, and then the shorts. That seemed to solve the problem, since the heat hadn't come back.I felt a brief moment of exhilaration as I climbed back into bed. I had remembered something ... Wait, had I remembered it, or was I going nuts? The exuberant feeling gave way to uncertainty as I lay back into bed, trying to make some sense. I was seeing ghosts, or visions, or something. I was, according to all respectable psychiatrists, suffering from auditory and visual hallucination, which were usually caused by brain damage. Yeah, I spent a little time in the library while Trish and I were waiting for Julie.
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He turned loose of my hand when he was satisfied I was on firm ground and said ‘Ricardo Montoya.’ ‘Susana Jackson.’ ‘Good night Miss Jackson,’ he said in halting English. ‘Good night, sir,’ and with that we parted. He came to the store the next day towards evening and said, again haltingly, ‘You are fine?’ ‘Yes, I am. Thank you.’ ‘This is your store?’ ‘It was my husband’s. He died and now it is mine.’ ‘I see.’ ‘Do you live here?’ ‘I have a small farm. I live by creek and I fish.’ ‘Oh, you fish, do you? Which creek is this? I like to fish, too’ There was a pause in our conversation and then he struggled for words, saying, ‘Miss Jackson, you fish with me tomorrow?’ I was taken aback by his forwardness, but it was a gentlemanly offer so I accepted. He doffed his hat, took my hand as we parted and kissed it. I thought about him all the next day. He arrived the next morning and we walked some distance, through the small town and down the old road leading out of town. It was hot but clear.

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