Now I’m topless and my nipples are so hard, they’re sharp enough to cut ice. But perhaps worst part of all is what Garrett sports: a massive-as-fuck hard-on, stretching his bathing suit so far it gapes at his waist. I’m not kidding. So I keep screaming, and pointing, one arm slapped across my boobs, the other flailing wildly in the direction of his junk, and now Garrett’s screaming, too, eyes ricocheting between his tented shorts and my boobs. “Tuck it away!” I shriek at him. “You tuck those away!” he shrieks back. “Stop looking!” “You stop looking!”
