If your Mama were to come in now, she could not but see that something was going on.’ To my shame, I was asking her to be discreet and, a little mendacious. I was not asking her not to take such liberties, because I simply could not bear to do so. By now I was as intoxicated by her as she evidently was by me. It is surprising how quickly our physical contact intensified, and how soon we became too insulated in our own self-conceit to worry about proprieties. We would kiss and fondle each other whilst alone, and even when her sisters were present, Miss Amelia’s hand would sometimes steal towards my virile member and trace its outline through my clothing, or take my hand and place it under her petticoats so that I could feel the moist heat of her body. In retrospect it is painfully clear that it was only a matter of time, before something catastrophic occurred. If her sisters noticed anything, they were too wary to reveal anything, partly for love of their sister, and, I suspect,. I didn’t see the beachball until it was in my face. The multi-colored beachball hit me square in the face. The shock sent me backwards and the ball rolled down, up over my bust and was caught in the “basket” my bulg- ing breasts, bellie and bent knees had made. I laid there on my back with hands grasping the beachball that lay atop my stomach. “You” I felt peculiar. “jerks?” There was a tingling within my belly. An odd sensation. A slight pressure. I looked to the peaks of my breasts, eyeing the beachball. I saw the big beachball actually rise up, like a multi-colored moon rising above two blue and yellow draped mountians. “What’s happening?” I thought. I slid one hand under the beachball, running my fingers over my bathing suit. I was surprised to find my tummy with a definite swell to it now compared to its trim flatteness it had been mere seconds ago. I felt the stem of the beachball, the air intake nozzle sticking.
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