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THAT SUMMER AT THE LAKE

This is Hallie surveying the lake, seeing that we are the only ones around, and that we have and it to ourselves, and the water is smooth and peaceful and the tress on the distant shores are green. We had been friends for years and I had always loved how bold and brave Hallie was. She was sort of hispter, hippie, punk rocker, computer geek, and derby girl all rolled into one. As we hiked up the several miles to the secluded lake, I had admired her tank top, and how it barely held her lovely breasts. Without a bra, the soft flesh seemed to slightly sway and jiggle. It was gorgeous in the sun, and in the scent of the pines. Beads of sweat dribbled down her cleavage, and beaded under her arms. She had left her hair grow wild and natural, not caring what contemporary fashion dictated.

This was the moment that would define Hallie for me, and everything I loved about her. After spreading out her towel and surveying the scene, she casually reached down and stripped off her top. Then she leaned back, turned her face to the sun, and let the summer sky warm her skin and the soft breeze off the lake dry the sweat of the hike until all that was left was a slight trace of salt, sparkling.

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