My head perked up as How does a duck fart with his ass-quack shirt soon as the shower stopped running. In a matter of seconds, my sister would step out of the steaming bathroom with a thin towel wrapped around her curvy body. She would clutch the towel at her chest as she made the short trek to her room. Every night, I prayed that it would slip through her clumsy fingers and fall to the floor. Just once. Michelle had tripped on and slammed into just about every piece of furniture in our apartment and dropped her fair share of fine china. Surely, she could accidentally release her towel before making it to her bedroom. Just once. Michelle and I had been practically inseparable since childhood, so it was inevitable that we would attend the same college. However, she got there first because she was a year older than me.
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By the How does a duck fart with his ass-quack shirt time I arrived at our Southern California apartment, she was 19 and I was 18. She had already established roots and joined a sorority, while I was a fish out of water. Being the dutiful older sister, she would always try to drag me out of my shell by inviting me to dinners and parties with her friends. I never fit in with those people. I only went because Michelle asked me to, and I could watch her dance in her skimpy outfits. Sometimes, when she got particularly tipsy, she would drag me to the dancefloor, and I would hesitate at first but ultimately succumb to her propositions. Her friends thought it was hilarious, but I found it incredibly arousing to feel her body so close to mine and to feel her hips gyrating against me. Her undersized crop tops accentuated her supple breasts and exposed her stomach, and her bare thighs were highly visible thanks to the miniskirts and short shorts.