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The wood-paneled living room smelled like Nag Champa and stale cigarettes, the shag carpet tickling my bare feet as Donna unclipped her Adrienne Barbeau hair with a sigh. "You kids and your goddamn dares," she muttered, fingers already working the buttons of her acid-washed jeans. The denim hit the floor with a slap, revealing tan lines that stopped abruptly mid-thigh. Her Coca-Cola tee came next—stretched thin across tits that'd nursed my best friend Jason back in '72—until she stood there in nothing but a yellowed Playtex bra and panties that screamed "divorced and don't give a fuck." She turned the radio dial with her toe, Grace Jones throbbing through the speakers as she unhooked the bra with one hand. "Happy now, little pervert?" The cups fell away, her tits swinging heavy with gravity and thirty-five years of life, nipples dark as the bourbon stains on her coffee table. When she peeled the panties down, the thatch of hair underneath was salt-and-pepper, damp at the crease where her thighs met. I could smell her—coppertone and musk and the faint tang of the Michelob she'd been drinking earlier. The ceiling fan clicked above us as she spread her legs just enough to show pink, glistening folds. "This what you wanted to see?" Her laugh was raspy from two packs a day. "Go on then. Touch 'em. Jason won't be home from practice till five." (ai, big tits, hairy pussy, brunette, latina, milf, mom, mother, vintage, retro, blackmail)
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