A Season for Bloomers...

It was the summer of ’05. And we were in love, all consuming, unadulterated and absolute love. She wore frocks, pastel colored and covered in flowers. She was chubby and jolly and wore her curls with an attitude. And she used to smell like a baby.

We were young and adventurous. And had all afternoons to ourselves, warm windy afternoons. Holding hands, playing with each other’s fingers, talking about the future, we were only 15. Completely oblivious to the rocky future we were going to have, we sat there swooning over each other, just breathing each other in.

It was warm and she had a few buttons undone. Her dress slipped off of one shoulder, baring a portion of her beautiful full breast. She didn’t bother to straighten up even though I was looking. Right then, we knew. Things would happen.

I was shy yet hopeful. And she read my mind. A storm was raging outside and it kept getting dark. We were close to each other, tiny whispers filling the space between us. Then she caught hold of my hand and with utmost surety, placed it on her bosom. Soft and ample, it was a treat to remember. My other hand followed.

It was quiet. All around.

She stepped forward. Her dress had slipped off completely and was bunched up on the floor and she stepped out of it, into my arms. Eagerly. I could hear my heart beat. I could hear her heart beat, faster and faster with each caress.

And then she stepped back. “I want you to look at me”, she said, “This is what I look like.” She put the lights on. There she was, incredibly gorgeous and curvy, wearing nothing but a beautiful cream colored short and frilly pair of bloomers.

“Do you find me attractive anymore?” she asked, as if she expected me to reply in the negative. Words couldn’t express how I felt, so I pulled her close, as I sat on the bed and kissed lightly on her belly. “I love you.” I said.

….

For years, I maintained a fancy for bloomers. Not a lot of people find bloomers sexy, coz unlike me, they haven’t had a season of bloomers.