“No, my dear, a modern bra like that just won’t do for a dress like this. The art is in the wrist, the ankle, the elbow, the neck.” I know well ...hat she means. My Oma has been teaching me the thrill and skill of the hunt since before that magical movement from girl to woman.I roll my shoulders slightly forward to release the tension on the spaghetti straps and reflexively unsnap my bra, slipping it from my shoulders. I note Oma’s approval as she hands me a fifty-year-old piece of silk. It. I draw our joined hands towards her heart, resting them over her breast. Softly, lingeringly, I glide our hands in a circle over the soft swell, making the circles smaller and smaller until we are only teasing the pert nipple poking through her top. A soft moan slips from her lips. I know how sensitive her nipples are, how much she loves to have them touched and played with. My hand covering her stomach slides low, settling over the curls I know are starting to dampen with her need. I use the. More

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