I knew that we had built our tiny little pool house for some reason other than as a decorative feature in the backyard but didn't realize what that reason was until this summer.
It was a very small structure, roughly eight by twelve square with a large sliding glass door on the side that faced the swimming pool. You had just started to decorate it a few weeks earlier. So far all it contained was a wicker wing-back chair and ottoman, an old coke machine, an antique Hoosier kitchen cabinet, small side table and some knick-knacks.
You were in the process of hanging pictures when I walked by on my way to the boat dock and glanced over to see you stretched up on your tiptoes holding a fairly large picture up against the wall. You called to me and asked me to give you a hand.
You looked very cute that morning, dressed in gym trunks and an old tee shirt. Your hair was pulled back and tied with a black ribbon. It was pretty obvious that you weren't wear a brassier.
I walked over and came back behind you raising my hands to grab the picture frame to hold it in place. I pushed my pelvis tightly into your little rump and told you to get a pencil. You explained that you really couldn't move unless I moved back a little so I did. You twisted around and ducked under my arm and as you walked away I distinctly felt your hand brush up against the front of my jeans. You trotted off towards the garage and returned shortly with some picture hangers and a pencil.
You were too short to reach up high enough to mark the hanger position with the pencil so I told you to drag the ottoman over and stand on it while you leaned into me for balance. That's exactly what you did and it just so happened that your right breast was perfectly aligned with my mouth when you were in that position. I leaned my head over and gave your nipple a gentle little nibble through your shirt. You didn't pull away.