Sometime during the 1980’s, when I was in my late 20’s, I worked with Crystal at the front desk of a hotel. She was 21. Everyone called her Pinky. She had long, straight, brown hair and a bright, pretty smile. She had an evil, scatologic sense of humor. She had also made it known to her co-workers that she was bi-sexual. She spent most of her free time hanging out with a gay male co-worker. Although there was no physical attraction on his part towards her, they seemed to share in-jokes that they thought we “straights” wouldn’t understand. Nevertheless, Crystal and I got along well.

One day, I asked her, “Why do they call you Pinky, Crystal?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“It’s because I have pink hair, dummy!”

“Huh? Your hair looks brown to me.”

She came close to me and presented a hank of her hair to me.

“Look closely. It’s pink.”

I did look closely, but all I could discern was the faint tinge of what someone else might consider to be pink streaks.

“If you say it’s pink, then it’s pink, Pinky, but I don’t see it.”

“Are you blind or something?”

“Well, I know I have red-green color-blindness, so, unless it’s a day-glow pink, I don’t see it.”

“So, you’re a freak, then!” We laughed at the possible double-entendre.

The week that my long-time girlfriend and I broke up, I was very depressed. I could hardly do my job. I just went through the motions as I obsessed about my ex. Pinky noticed. She asked me out.

“I don’t know, Pinky. I wouldn’t be much company.”

“What, you don’t like a girl to ask you out?”

“No, that’s not it. I’m just too tired and sad, thinking about my ex.”

“Well, that’s why I’m asking you out. I like you, Dave, and I hate to see you this way.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on! I’ll help you get your mind off her. We’ll do something fun!”

“Okay, if you insist. Just don’t expect too much of me.”

We went out. She drove. I was still in a fog of depression and obsessive thinking. I don’t remember where we went or what we did. Maybe we ate somewhere, I don’t know. She did all the talking. I just remember that Pinky insisted on holding my hand whatever we did. Eventually, she parked and led me by the hand to the one-bedroom apartment that she shared with her girlfriend. She didn’t mention that her roommate was her some-time lover.

What she did mention, once we were in her apartment’s living room, was that she was nudist. I was, too, but for some reason I didn’t tell her.

“I can’t stand wearing clothes, especially at home! Do you mind, Dave, if I take off my bra? It’s really uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind. It’s your house. Make yourself comfortable.”

She started to remove her blouse as she walked to the bedroom. I stood there, watching through the open door. She threw her blouse on her bed, removed her bra and dropped it there, too. She took off her shoes and came walking out to the living room just wearing her skirt and pantyhose.

“That’s better!” she said.”

I looked her up and down as she walked smiling towards me. Her breasts were full. They flopped around as she walked. There was the barest hint of a bikini-top tan line on them. Otherwise, her breasts and nipples were tanned. Amazingly, my penis made no reaction.

She flopped down on the couch and lay with her head on the padded armrest. She put her feet up on the couch.

“Come here!” she said.

I sat down sideways on the edge the couch. I put my left hand on the backrest to support me. I looked down at her. Her breasts had flattened with gravity and they spread to either side of her chest.

She reached for me and said, “Dave, just put your head on my chest.”

I bent down, turned my head to the right, and lay my ear between her breasts. She put her right hand on my back and rubbed it gently. She caressed my hair lightly, and massaged my scalp. I sighed deeply and repeatedly. I was listless. I was thinking about my ex. I was wondering what she, my ex, was doing at this very minute.

Whether Pinky intuited that I was thinking this, or not, I didn’t know. Her stated purpose of this date was to get my mind off of my ex-girlfriend, so it follows that she would say what she said next.

“You can touch my breasts, Dave. I won’t break. I’d like that.”

I sat up, got off the couch and knelt beside it. I began to cup and caress her breasts slowly and lightly, as if it were a great effort. He nipples began to pop out.

“Pinch my nipples, too!”

I did. She shuddered a bit. I started to get into it. I continued to caress and pinch. The effort for me to do this lessened. I felt the fog lifting.

“Squeeze them while you pinch my nipples.”

I slid her nipples between my index and middle fingers. I pinched the fingers together as I squeezed her breasts with both hands.

“That’s good,” she said. “I like that.”

I heard a key go into the front doorknob, and a young woman walked in. She looked at the both of us at the couch. I started to remove my hands from Pinky’s breasts, but she grabbed my wrists to keep them there. She indicated with her hands and a look that I should keep doing what I had been doing.

She said to the woman, “Wendy, I didn’t expect you back yet!”

“I got off early,” she replied.

“Wendy, this is my friend, Dave.”

“Hi, Dave.”

“Hi, Wendy.” I continued massaging Pinky’s breasts.

“So, Pinky, I see you’ve gone over to the other side again,” huffed Wendy.

Wendy turned and walked quickly to their bedroom and shut the door. Pinky removed my hands from her body, and jumped off the couch. She charged through her bedroom door, leaving it open behind her. I stood up. I could hear loud whispering from the bedroom.

“Dave!” Pinky called out. I approached the bedroom door and looked in. Wendy had her hand to her mouth. She was crying softly.

“Yes?”

“We’ve got to go. Just let me get changed.”

“Okay.”

I watched as Pinky removed her skirt and panty-hose, revealing her small, white, lacy, bikini panties. She pulled on some white shorts and a light-blue camisole. She put on some flip-flops. She came out to the living room, grabbed her purse and my hand. She led me out the door.

“Whew!” she said.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s such drama queen! She’s just upset that you’re a guy. She likes to share my girlfriends. Can we go to your place, Dave?”