Ramya Sundar

I have always wondered what the birth rate for February 1946 was like. As we walked down Piccadilly she kept taking a nip from my bottle, before we reached Green Park she was distinctly squiffy. Entering the park I tossed the empty bottle into some bushes. ‘Gorranother drinky?’ She demanded slurring her words. I fished in the deep pouch pocket of my Walking-out uniform jacket and produced another bottle of gin, some horrible no name blended stuff that claimed to be Plymouth Gin – the stuff that burns the lining of your guts, and is probably closer to aviation fuel than the stuff you buy today. She grabbed it from me, opened the bottle and took a swig. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Ugh ish shimply frightful – do people really drink thish?’ I guided her into the park, near Piccadilly the grass was a heaving mass of grunting uniformed bodies and giggling women of all shapes and ages. We went deeper into the park walking towards Constitution Hill, eventually we spotted a park keeper’s shed. I took the rest of the clothes and threw it out. “hey, what are you doing? Am I supposed to wear only my boxers as a new style?”. I looked at him and said “it sure looks good on you” and winked at him. He quickly took of my skirt, jacket and shirt and threw it out too. “what is this supposed to mean?” is asked. He replied “if I can only wear underwear, you should too.” He took a very long look and then I began to notice a bulge growing in his boxers. A very large bulge to be precise. “dad?! Are you having a boner?!”He quickly sat down and tried to cover it up with his hands but without success: The tip of his Dick was sticking out his boxers. He blushed when he realised I saw it too. “it’s not what you think...” He said looking away from me or his boner. “I think it’s exactly what I think” I said with a warm tone. I took a step closer and kneeled in front of him. I told him to get up and I pulled down his boxers. “wow!” was the only thing I could say when I saw his half-erected dick.
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