I got to be the bombardier for one of our contests – flour-bombing. Mister Barton flies in from western Georgia in an airplane that’s older than h... is – 1946. It’s a neat old thing.Actually, he took me and Vicki and Rachel all up, one at a time, for bombing runs. It’s fun. That thing clatters along at seventy-five miles an hour, we’re a thousand feet above a big X in the grass by the runway, and you toss a two-pound bag of flour out of the plane trying to hit the X.It’s almost as much luck as. She sat up on her bed, listening again, making sure that there was an absolute need to attend to the door. There it went again, knock knock. Reluctantly, she stood up with her bikini bottom falling into a heap around her ankles, she bent over and curled them back upwards. It was rather uncomfortable, to put on that cold piece of cloth against her warm body, the water from the pool mixing up with her own juices that had trickled down her inner thigh, causing it to dry up. She was almost certain. More

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