[ The trouble with boxer-briefs is that they're not all that different than whitey tighties and when he comes down to join her, Rey looks up because eyes track movement and — R'iia's shorts, she can see everything. She now knows way too much about the way his body is built. Like. She could probably diagram every muscle — yes, even that one — just based on what she can see right now.
She focuses on pulling off her sash instead of looking at him slipping into the water. And then she's down to things that she actually … needs … to remove. Like, once either the shirt or pants go, she'll be more naked than she's ever been in front of another person. But he'd gotten undressed quicker. It should be easy.
She starts with the shirt. Stripping it over her head in one smooth motion, she discards it among his clothes, leaving her in a plain band wrapped around her breasts to flatten them and hold them secure. It's not graceful, but it has straps. She starts unraveling her arm bands and piles those too.
Somehow the pants feels like an event horizon, but she strips out of those two, feeling more awkward when she has to bend to step out of them and pick them up off the tank to set aside. Her panties have seen better days, alright. They might have been new once. It's not clear what color they were originally because uneven and vigorous washings have left them sort of grayish, white in some patches, and so forth. The elastic is worn enough for them to be slightly loose.
There's no way she looks attractive, she concludes. So she grabs her flashlight and uses the clip on it to fasten it to the mouth of the tank before she slides in to join him, all in a hurry so that he doesn't see her underwear for that long before they're submerged.
She can't swim, but the water itself is only some four feet deep. Standing room only in this bath. It's warm, warmer for the enclosed space and for the fact that she is blushing, looking at how much of his bare chest sticks up out of it.
Some sand and silt sticks to the bottom of the tank, grainy between her toes. They'd have never been able to filter this, but it helps take the grease and oil right off of her body. She rubs her hands over her arms to help rinse it away all at once. ]
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She focuses on pulling off her sash instead of looking at him slipping into the water. And then she's down to things that she actually … needs … to remove. Like, once either the shirt or pants go, she'll be more naked than she's ever been in front of another person. But he'd gotten undressed quicker. It should be easy.
She starts with the shirt. Stripping it over her head in one smooth motion, she discards it among his clothes, leaving her in a plain band wrapped around her breasts to flatten them and hold them secure. It's not graceful, but it has straps. She starts unraveling her arm bands and piles those too.
Somehow the pants feels like an event horizon, but she strips out of those two, feeling more awkward when she has to bend to step out of them and pick them up off the tank to set aside. Her panties have seen better days, alright. They might have been new once. It's not clear what color they were originally because uneven and vigorous washings have left them sort of grayish, white in some patches, and so forth. The elastic is worn enough for them to be slightly loose.
There's no way she looks attractive, she concludes. So she grabs her flashlight and uses the clip on it to fasten it to the mouth of the tank before she slides in to join him, all in a hurry so that he doesn't see her underwear for that long before they're submerged.
She can't swim, but the water itself is only some four feet deep. Standing room only in this bath. It's warm, warmer for the enclosed space and for the fact that she is blushing, looking at how much of his bare chest sticks up out of it.
Some sand and silt sticks to the bottom of the tank, grainy between her toes. They'd have never been able to filter this, but it helps take the grease and oil right off of her body. She rubs her hands over her arms to help rinse it away all at once. ]