We'd been saving up hard for several weeks and the booze had flowed... well, like booze so that by midnight we were all rather 'happy' and this state ...f inebriation was further advanced when Samantha, ever the exuberant member of our trio, had 'allowed' herself to be coerced to enter the Wet T-Shirt competition. Not that Sam ever needed much persuasion to show her almost perfect body off and even as she joined the line up of other contestants, I knew that with those massive breasts of hers and. "Oh, if you don't mind, that's ok," she said while turning away, obviously pissed at how dismissive I was with her "family moment." Mom! It's not like that…" No, of course not. Nevermind." Mom, come on…" I called, but it was too late. Socializing was never my strong suit; I think I knew who I got that from.When I saw Alice the following day, I was very tempted to ask what the conversation with our mother had been like that night, but I didn't. I had suited up to go to the office, and she was. ‘Oh Peter.’ Lindi sighed, ‘It doesn’t make me think any less of you. In fact, it makes me think even more of you. You men are terrible at dealing with your emotions sometimes – you bottle it up when you should be letting it out, and then when you do let it out you start apologising for not being ‘man enough’ for succumbing to them. Trust me on this: a woman thinks a lot more of a man who is in touch with his emotions and isn’t afraid to show them than a man who tries to put up a false wall of. She's put just the right amount of make up, discreet yet sexy. Her hair is put up like THAT time. Her black coat hides her body, yet I can guess at sweet curves, and her high heeled boots make me think she's dressed with care.Our eyes are locked. Hers are deep ponds I want to swim in. She smiles shyly. I wave my hand awkwardly. Under the gray Georges Rech coach, I've put my best suit, the anthracite Moschino one, with a light pink shirt. My black frattelli rossetti are mirror polished. My hair.
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