#18608 - With both your flower halter bikini top and shirt in hand, you don’t see me throw them back toward the front of the limo. While the driver holds open the trunk where I gently lay our bags, containing just the necessities (clothes, suntan lotion, several swimsuits, those books we’ve both been meaning to read, oh, and the baby oil, feather, cuffs and other goodies I haven’t told you about) you approach the door—opened for you by the kind-smiling, very large and portly and friendly Hawai’ian driver. The loose, barely-there light materialed burgundy short-sleeve shirt is only tight around the very top of my chest and arms.
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