“Wow, look at the tits on that one.” Lane grinned hugely.

Billy smiled wanly back. They were on the floor of The Fort, going through the Playboys. Ordinarily, Billy would have been just as caught up in their reading as Lane, but today was different. He felt restless, ill at ease, bored. He stared down at the magazine on his lap, at the photo of the woman in the postal cap. She was without a doubt the most gorgeous, most perfect woman in all of their Playboys, but today he didn’t feel excited looking at her. He felt uneasy. Was there something familiar about her eyes? Did her mouth look like… his?

Stop that, he told himself. He forced himself to look at her boobs, at the huge pinkish-brown nipples on the tips of her perfectly formed breasts. There was nothing about her tits that reminded him of the mailman or that was the least bit unusual or masculine. They were normal, healthy, good old American female breasts.

Still…

“Guess what?” Lane said. His voice was casual, nonchalant, but it wasn’t a natural nonchalance. Billy had known Lane for most of his life, and he could tell when his friend was lying and sometimes even what he was thinking just by the tone of his voice. This was not spur-of-the-moment. This was a purposeful, intentional casualness, something Lane had planned and practiced.

“What?” Billy said, equally cool.

Lane glanced slowly around, as if making sure that no one was peeking into the HQ from the outside or from the Big Room. He withdrew a crumpled folded envelope from his pants pocket, handing it over. “Check this out.”

Billy glanced at the outside of the envelope. It was addressed to Lane at his house, and the return name in the upper left corner was Tama Barnes.

“Look inside,” Lane prodded.

Billy took out the folded paper inside. It was a letter, written in an obviously female hand. He turned the letter over. Underneath the flowery cursive characters was a Xeroxed photo of a nude Hispanic woman. She was smiling, hands cupping her ample breasts, legs spread wide. The photocopied picture was too smeared and dark and blurry to provide details, but Billy had seen plenty of details in the magazines on the floor, and his mind filled in what his eyes could not see.

“Read it,” Lane said. He was grinning.

Billy turned the letter over and read. The letter started out with a standard salutation but quickly began describing in detail all the forms of pleasure that Tama was willing to give to Lane, all the sexual techniques at which she was an expert. Billy couldn’t help smiling as he read what Tama wanted to do to Lane’s “love pump.”

“What are you laughing at?” Lane demanded.

“I bet she doesn’t know you’re eleven years old.”

“I’m old enough,” he said defensively. “Besides, I already sent her a letter back.”