Dear Fetishist,
The first time Aaron saw Brenda she asked him to hold her glasses. Then she stepped out to the edge of the diving board and looked foggily into the pool; it could have been drained, myopic Brenda would never have known it. She dove beautifully, and a moment later she was swimming back to the side of the pool, her head of short-clipped auburn hair help up, straight ahead of her, as though it were a rose on a long stem. She glided to the edge and then was beside him. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes watery though not from the water. She extended a hand for her glasses but did not put them on until she turned and headed away. Aaron watched her move off. Her hands suddenly appeared beside her. She caught the bottom of her suit between thumb and index finger and flicked what flesh had been showing back where it belonged. His blood jumped.
That night, before dinner, he called her.
“Who are you calling? His Aunt Gladys asked.
“Some girl I met today.”
“Doris introduced you?”
“Doris wouldn’t introduce me to the guy who drains the pool, Aunt Gladys.”
"Speaking of Doris, she left you a message."
"I doubt it highly," Aaron said.
"She said something about a pick-up."
"When?" Aaron said.
"Tomorrow night. At the Fridge. From 6:30 - 8:30pm."
"Will there be beer?"
She shrugged, passed Aaron the phone, wandered off for parts unknown.
A bunch of other stuff happened between Aaron and Brenda, but it's all pretty dirty so we won't tell you about it here.
Aaron
Brandon
Mike