" Tracy was smiling broadly now.He had offered his hand. "Hans-Peter. May I?" Sure: sit down. I'm Tracy. If you will excuse me, you don't look like a ...ans-Peter to me?" Ah, Hans Peter is from my father who is German and the skin and hair are from my mom, who comes from Ghana. So, Tracy? Hmmm. I love your hair." My hair? What sort of a chat up line is that?" No sort of line but you see where my mother comes from, where I grew up until I was a teenager, everyone has the same hair and eyes. Black. And envied.I looked across at my little friend, enjoying the high, tinkling chimeof her laughter. Chrissie lay giggling beside me with her skirt flungup to her chest. I roamed my gaze over her girlish figure, my eyesconstantly returning to her underwear. The sight of those shininggossamer wisps made me tingle all over. They were so different fromwhat I wore under my jeans, so soft and pretty and dainty.Just like Chrissie herself.She turned on her side, panting with helpless mirth, oblivious of. More

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