Dear DOMAI
I grew up in a suburb of Toronto, Canada; my parents and my 2 siblings lived next door to a couple of about the same age as my parents and their 2 children. My parents and the couple next door were good friends, and we knew them as “uncle” and “auntie”, even though we weren’t related. We considered their children as our cousins, and in fact, we saw them far more often than our own “real” cousins. As neighbours, we fully lived up to the old adage about good fences – so much so, that the fence that separated our backyards had a gap in it, so that we kids could retrieve a ball or Frisbee that had missed its intended receiver, without having to go all the way around.
I still remember how, even with that gap, we’d never play in each others’ backyards, unless the other kids were already out playing and we decided to play together – that was the kind of respect that we had for each others’ homes. To both sets of parents’ credit, even though they’ve long moved out of that neighbourhood, they still get together for dinner every now and then.
The subject of my story, though, was their younger one, a daughter named Angela, who was a little less than a year older than I. She was a typical cute girl, who loved to run around the yards, playing tag or hide-and-seek. We went to the same school and often walked there together (it was pretty much across the street from our houses), even though she was a grade ahead of me. During the summers, that school had a pool that offered swimming lessons, and we both learned to swim there. After the lessons, we’d come home and our moms would hang the towels and swim suits on the clotheslines in the backyard, so the chlorine smell wouldn’t always be in the house.
One lovely Saturday summer morning, my dad finished watering the vegetable garden using a sprinkler, and was about to put it away when I asked if he could leave it in the grass so I could play in it. We took down the towels from the clothesline first, then he moved the sprinkler and adjusted the spray so it would make a fine mist which was perfect for cooling down in the growing late-morning heat and humidity. He then went inside to take care of some other chores. Angela saw me taking the laundry basket into our big garden shed, and I invited her to come play in the spray with me. She took her swimsuit down from their clothesline, came into our yard, and followed me into the shed, where she started to undress.
I must have paused a moment – thinking I should go inside to my room to change – but as she was undressing, she told me something like, “Boys and girls aren’t s’posta see each other without clothes, but it’s ok for you and me ‘cause we’re family.” I must have thought that made perfect sense, because I undressed as well, put on my swim trunks, and then we went back into the yard and played in the spray until lunchtime. That was the first time that I saw what was the difference between boys and girls, which I had only assumed was clothing.
Flash forward now a long time. It’s now the last week of August, back-to-school season. For me, about to enter my last year of high school; for Angela, her first year of University, out-of-province. I had a summer job that year, but had the last week off so I could relax and “brace myself” for the school year. It was a weekday, my parents were at work, my siblings were already living on their own, so I had the house to myself. After sleeping in, I woke and found a note my dad left, asking if I could water the garden for him. So, after an afternoon breakfast, I set up the sprinkler and gave the garden a good soak. Since it was another one of those hot and humid late-summer days, I figured I’d do some relaxing outside.
A little while later, I saw Angela in the backyard, taking down some of the laundry left to dry by her mom the day before. I knew she would be moving out soon, so I asked her to come over and chat a bit. After we talked about how it would be a big change to not be neighbours anymore (we had by then understood we were not cousins, but we were still good friends), I got up to turn off the sprinkler. I then turned to Angela and asked if she remembered the time we played in the sprinkler together; she said of course she did. I playfully asked if she’d like to play in the spray once more, for old times’ sake. She laughed at first, but then – given the weather – she said she’d love to.
She went back to her yard to get her swimsuit out of the laundry she’d just taken down from the clothesline, then helped me take down our laundry (which included an old pair of cut-offs I used as swim trunks at the beach the weekend before), and I brought it into the shed. As I was moving the sprinkler from the garden to the grassy yard, I then asked her (and only in a slightly naughty manner) if she also remembered how when we were kids, we’d both gone into the shed to change, and the advice she’d told me all those years ago...
That’s when I saw her in the shed, already down to her white cotton panties. Again, she saw me hesitate. “You don’t expect me to go all the way back into my room just so I can come all the way back here, do you?” Keeping as cool as I could, I said “No...I guess not.” And at that, her panties came off as well. She started to get her swimsuit together, which was consisted of a pair of red Adidas shorts and a candy pink bikini-top, while I undressed as well. I am sure I must have been shaking, because she gave me this big smile, which was equal parts “I bet you can’t believe I just did that” and “I can’t believe I just did that.”
Her body was just lovely, and although she was nude for no more than a few seconds, I drank in as much of her beauty as I could. Her breasts were small, but plump; I could only imagine how soft. Her rosy nipples reminded me of those little strawberry gumdrops that were popular back then. Her shoulders and hips were still slender, but I got lost in their curves. And peeking out from between her legs was a tuft of chocolate brown hair that was a marvellous contrast to her creamy skin. I was in a state of absolute admiration, and I secretly hoped she had the same admiration for me, as I clumsily put on my swim shorts.
We then went out and cooled off in the spray, and had one of those afternoons you wish would never end. Shortly after, her mother came home from work, so I knew that an encore performance was not to be. She saw us and started laughing. “Kids just don’t grow up nowadays!”
Angela would go on to University, and years later she married a very nice man and started a family with him. I’ve remained single, but we’ve kept in touch by various methods; even more so now with the Internet. That late-summer afternoon romp has been our happy little secret all this time, and when I told Angela that I was thinking of writing it down for your website, she was very enthusiastic about it. After she read it, she reminded me about the little exchange we had before she returned home for dinner...
“Hey Ange”, I said. “You know, you were the first member of the opposite sex I ever saw naked.”
“Me too,” she said.
“And the second,” I said.
“Me too,” she said.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“Me too.”
Julio, Toronto, Canada
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[e-mail address used with permission]
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