On a 7-9, she'll do it if you turn her on.

"C'mon Taylor," you say.

She laughs. "Yeah, you wish," she says. She steps forward and turns sideways, removing her butt from your hands.

"No, totally," you say.

Taylor tilts her head back and rinses the shampoo out of her hair. What a luscious figure.

"Why are you still waiting tables in a diner?" you ask. "Mary Forbes?"

"Ha," she says. "Pays. It's not horrible. Easy to save up as long as I'm living at home. I've got plans."

"What?" you say.

"When did you ever care?" Taylor says. She laughs. "Baja, this summer. Then I'm cooking for some bus camping trips. Hella fun, and now that I know what I'm doing, it's gonna be great."

"Rock on, Taylor," you say.

She squeezes the water out of her hair.

"Well, you are kinda right," Taylor says. "I do have a thing for Mary."

"Gonna see her soon?" you ask.

"Yeah. Mandy's off on Sundays so that's when we get together," Taylor says. "As long as Mary's husband is out, that is, and if her daughters aren't on college break."

"Sunday? Tomorrow?" you say.

"Yah," Taylor says. She steps out of the shower and grabs a towel.

You do a quick scrub and rinse as Taylor dries herself, then shut off the shower and grab a towel for yourself.

"Any way I can convince you to take me along?" you ask.

"Ha ha, very funny," she says. "Do my back, it's hell to get it dry, and I hate being damp in clothes."

You take the driest part of her towel and pat gently at the center of her back where it's hard to reach. She's got some nice definition in her back muscles, actually, and some real shoulders. Waiting tables, you suppose. Chest, waist, hips. Taylor is a testament to why "fitted women's shirt" is a glorious thing. Your mom taught Taylor how to alter oversized unisex concert T-shirts to fit, and boy, did they.

You finish drying Taylor's back. "You're still kinda damp between your legs," you say.

"Okay," Taylor says. She widens her stance.

You find a dry fold of the towel and get down on the floor to pat between her legs and her buttocks. "Turn round."

You're staring your sister's blonde bush and pussy lips in the face. They have a bit of a warm, sweet smell to them. Not soap, but Taylor. You pat a little, then look up at Taylor. "You were amazing with your mouth," you say. "Can I return the favor?"

You look up into her eyes. She doesn't say anything, but shifts one foot, bracing it up against the tiles that circle the bathroom wall. Her pussy lips open. She nods.

Taylor is delicious, warm, sweet and slippery. You feel her labia swell and separate as you go down on her. Hell, if she hasn't had any for a week, she's probably hot for it. You'd be. Her breathing gets faster and deeper, and you hear little whimpers. "Oh God Tom, Oh God Tom," she says. "Oh..."

The door downstairs slams.

"Fuck!" Taylor says. "Maddie's back." Taylor steps back and grabs her towel. "Quick, Tom, get out."

"Will you ask Mary?"

"Yes, yes, I'll ask her," Taylor says. She shooes you out. "But you'll have a job to finish first."

Later that night, after her shift, Taylor sneaks into your room. She holds both hands over her mouth as she sits on top of your face, riding your tongue to finally reach her satisfaction. After her third orgasm, she slumps to the side.

"Mary wants to meet you first," Taylor says. "And if she says yes, there's a special favor you can do her that'll mean a lot."

"Just tell me," you say.

"I'll tell you tomorrow if we can set it up," Taylor says. "The timing may be kinda tight."

"Rock on, Taylor," you say.

"Rest up," she says. "Watch your phone for my text."

You're really looking forward to Sunday.