"Ah shut up, little girl. So Pete's thirty-six and John's... what? Thirty-one or two?"
"Five," Roz said, pleased that her friend had underestimated John's age.
"Hmp! Mighty well preserved-he looks younger'n Pete, damn his tight little ass. Oh, pardon me."
Roz laughed. "It's all right. I love that tight little, ah, ass you're damning!"
"So do I! Hang onto it, girl, or I'll be patting him when you're not looking." And she fondled Roz's bottom, which was gloriously bare, on Lori's sheet.
"Just content yourself with mine, darling! You, uh, aren't going to be telling your age, hmmm?"
"I'm twenty-nine," Lori said. "I may be twenty-nine next year, too. I hate it. Thirty's always sounded so old. A real milestone. Twenty-nine sounds about fifty years younger than thirty."
"I hope not. Anyhow
