It wasn’t my fault. Honest!

I was sitting at the game watching my high school football team getting killed, again, when I noticed it.

A small drop of sweat.

It started between her shoulder blades and ever so slowly made its way down her back. It paused every so often, being held back by one or more of the tiny, fine, bit of red peach fuzz that covered her body.

Then, as she perspired a bit more and the drop joined another and gathered mass. That made it fall a bit more.

I thought for sure that it would end when it hit the fabric of her bikini top, but it snuck under the string, like a very good limbo dancer.

She had more red peach fuzz on her lower torso, so I knew the drop would soon stop and allow me to get back to watching this disaster of a game.

But no, it would stall on another single bit of red peach fuzz and then get a bit larger and fall further.

How could she not feel the exquisite lightness of the tickle as it progressed in its struggle against gravity.

Now down to the middle of her lower back, the drop gained speed on the smoother, flat, ginger toned skin.

Faster, faster, faster until its journey ended in the deep cleft of her gaping bottom cleavage.

Her hips spread out as a woman’s do when they sit. Not from being fat, but from being blessed by God with the perfectly rounded bottom.

Her bikini bottom was lowered enough that there was an unobstructed view of the drop as it met its final demise in the ginger canyon between her lower cheeks.

That would have been the end of it had it not been for her girlfriend who watched me as I followed the drop to its final resting place.

“Enjoying the view?” Lucy asked.

It took a while for the hypnotic spell to be broken. But broken it was when the little red-haired girl jumped to her feet and huffed before leaving with her friends.

“Blockhead.”

My only thoughts, “Oh. You’ve done it again, Charlie Brown.”