With those details taken care of Brenda went to an old wind-up victrola and put on a scratchy record of a jazz band orchestra of the twenties. As the jumping rhythm came from the horn-shaped speaker, she began to do a slow dance in front of the biggest mirror in the store. She let her loose-fitting jeans slip down first, stepping out of them in time to the music. Then she unbuttoned her old shirt and tossed it away too. Her full breasts bounced in the cups of her bra. Tilting her hips one way and then the other, she hooked thumbs in the elastic of her panties and began to peel them down.

Now the feeling started. That buzzing, dazzling feeling that made her short of breath. And remembering what she'd seen in the basement of the church that morning seemed to intensify the sensations. Her young sister hadn't heard her creeping downstairs after them. Nor had Gil. They'd been too wound up in what they were doing. The thought of how that boy's hand had looked as it'd disappeared under Annie's white dress made Brenda tremble. No boy had ever touched her like that.

She swayed before the mirror, enjoying her reflection more than usual for some reason. Her panties made a funny sound as the crotchband came away from her cunt. Her bland curls were all plastered against her mound. She was wetter than usual, more excited than usual. She let her panties puddle at her ankles and stepped out of them. Then she reached behind her to get her bra loose. At this point she always felt the tingling excitement begin. But today she was panting harder than ever before. And her nipples seemed so firm and tender. She let the cups fall forward, the weight of her breasts forcing them off. The bra fell at her feet and she pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chest high. In the mirror she looked different somehow.