The day that my daughter, Susan, turned eighteen she had a pyjama party. She was probably the youngest of her immediate group of friends and so I had half a dozen eligible and nubile young females floating around the house in their pyjamas.
I'm no fool. I knew exactly what to do in a situation like this. I became Brer Fox. I went into hiding, lying low and saying nothing.
It was after midnight before the noise settled down and the girls started dropping off to sleep. By one am it was dead quiet in the house, as I was also asleep. Something woke me at three am and I went on the prowl to make sure that everything was all right.
I found Kelly in the kitchen, getting a glass of water. Kelly was blonde and big busted. I mention the big bust because I had always wondered if she wore padded bras. Now here she was in my kitchen in the wee small hours of the morning, wearing flannelette pyjamas that were noticeably strained across the front.
"Kelly," I said, nodding to her by way of greeting.
"Hi, Mr Wilson," she returned. "Woke up thirsty," she added, holding up her glass of water.
"And noisy," I said with a grin, laughing at her blush.
"Sorry for disturbing you," she said.
"You've always disturbed me," I told her, watching her blush spread. "Seeing you're here, you can answer a question for me."
"What's that?" she asked, curious.
"Are these real? Do you mind if I take a look to see?"
I reached out and flicked open the top button of her pyjamas. Kelly stood there looking slightly stunned. She was still standing, mouth slightly open when I flicked the second button.
"What are you doing?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"I'm undoing your buttons so I can look at your breasts," I said calmly, flicking open the next button. "I've always considered them to be rather a splendid pair and have often wanted to see them."
By this time I'd flicked open the last button and her pyjama top separated slightly. I took it by the collar and eased it off her shoulders, giving me an excellent view of her breasts.
"Mr Wilson," she suddenly protested. "You can't do that."
"Of course I can," I pointed out. "I just have. You mean I shouldn't do it."
"You know what I mean," she retorted.
"I do," I admitted, "and if you expect an apology you're crazy. You have a wonderful pair of breasts and definitely worth my while taking a look."
Kelly gave me a real feminine look, put down her glass of water and started to straighten her top.
"A moment, Kelly, before you do that," I said.
Kelly paused, looking at me, hands holding her pyjama top but not yet closing the gap.
"They say one may as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb," I told her, "So if you care to wait a moment. . ."
I reached over, hooked my thumbs around her pyjama bottoms and pushed them down, taking my time. Kelly just stood there, watching it happen, apparently not believing I was really doing that.
Standing back for a moment I nodded my appreciation.
