I got up from my chair and glanced out the back window at the sky and saw how steadily the dark clouds were approaching the town. Strong gust of wind blew through the louvers at me, cooling off the patches of sweat I spotted on my shirt’s armpits. At that moment I heard the bell chime as the door was pushed open, announcing the presence of someone stepping into the shop. I turned around at the sound of someone stumping his boots on the withered welcome carpet at the door’s entrance and right away knew who my first customer of the day was—Magnus Jethro, the one and only. At the time prior to him dying suddenly before my eyes, Magnus Jethro was pushing sixty-three and was everything a miserable old man should be. Dour, cantankerous and just plain annoying as anyone I knew back then in the town. He had a wife whom he’d practically driven to madness because of his constant nagging attitude, and three sons whom after leaving the town had not once ventured to come and see how the old. She would point to her mom, Granny and say, “If you want to walk around with your tits tucked into your belt when you are 50, you don’t have to wear a bra, but if you want them stay nice and firm like mine, keep them holstered.” Oh, and like Mom and Granny, I burn in about 10 minutes of direct summer sun!!So most of the time I keep the girls restricted by “accepted bondage gear of the day”, that some man named a brassiere and try to keep them out of my way as I play volleyball and fish. But notice, I did say MOST of the time. The summer between my Senior year of high school and college, I started spending a lot of time on the back of our property, fishing a lake that was deep, blue and cold. Dad had built it before I was born to hold back water that could then be let out in the summer to keep the cows watered.One hot August day, as my line bobbed on the surface of the lake and the sun beat down on me in my little flat-bottomed boat, I decided to see what it would feel like to let.
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