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.. then I remembered, the washing! I had no underwear left, but it was a fine day and should dry quickly. So I heaved the load into the basket and stepped out the back door into the sunshine, walking carefully down the path to the line. I started pegging out the panties; black crotch less lace, tiger striped g-string, red satin bows, white burlesque frillies, and all the rest - like pretty flowers floating in the breeze. I smiled at my collection of lingerie, fingering them fondly and feeling a surge of desire course through my still naked body. I loved being outdoors like this, the sun shining magnificently on my breasts, making my nipples curl with excitement. I dreamily reached down to my pussy and stroked its smoothness, still slightly damp and slick from the bath oils. A prickling sensation rode up my spine making me blush... was someone watching me?! I turned my head quickly to the neighbours window and saw the blinds flap wildly - not the wind this time! A smirk escaped from my. ’ Scott could barely get the words out. ‘I have to go now.’ ‘Oh….Okay.’ The little girl shivered in disappointment. As Scott rounded the corner he thought he saw a tear fall down her dingy cheek. Scott hurried to his car, anxious to erase the memory of The Little Candle Girl. But as he headed once more toward the Mill Street Bridge, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Everything about the scene, the archaic clothes, the weird location, the makeshift box, seemed impossible and Scott wondered if he had simply dreamed the entire thing up. Also creeping through his consciousness was a present his grandmother had given him as a child. It was his first picture book, and one of the most poignant images was the visage of a forlorn little girl, holding a clump of matches in her hand. Matches…That was it! The story was called The Little Match Girl, and it was Scott’s favorite throughout childhood. In his head, he came up with the sequence of the story pretty well until he reached the ending..
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