The eyes opened.The eyes opened. The smile came on. "Yeah!" I turned her away from my, to face the buffet. "Help yourself." She surprised me with her efficiency. She managed to assemble a ham-and-swiss-and-salami on rye with lots of mustard in a little less than a minute. She took a bite and scooped out some salad. She took another bite and a pair of pickles appeared on the sandwich plate. "Soda and milk and juice in the refrigerator." "Um-hm." Another bite; the sandwich was half-gone. While she brought out the ginger ale, I quickly made a ham-and-swiss for myself and took some salad. By the time she'd poured the ginger ale into a glass, her sandwich was history. I scooted out of the way while she assembled a second one. We loaded up a serving tray and I was surprised that her sandwich survived the trip to the book-strewn living room. I was also surprised that my self-control survived the trip. She was still damp from the shower and the tee-shirt was clinging to her ripe little peach of an ass as she preceded me through the apartment. She chattered as she devoured the rest of her sandwich. About school, her friends, a Menudo tour. About the two dance classes she was taking -- three times a week at an aerobic dance studio and once a week at a ballet school. She was on her school's gymnastics team. She wanted to try out for cheerleading. And during all this, she was wiping out her salad and her pickles. |