With a creak the closet door closed, shutting out all light and the muffled giggles of the group. Sightless as this rendered him, Jeremy could all but see the person before him, this exquisite specimin of nubile womanhood.

Her breathing matched his, and he could imagine her slight frame moving with each in and out of stale air. Her hair, as black and mysterious as the tiny space they now share would still be held back by a broad, pink ribbon. From out of the darkness Jeremy imagined he could see the twinkle in her teacup eyes of startling blue.

The softest whisper of lips parting, those succulent pouty lips, rose above the sound of their respiration. But all she said was a sigh, perhaps she wriggled her button nose at the same time. One delicate hand reached out to find his. One chipped nail, the pinky, snagged on his sweater sleave.

A shared giggle.

A sigh of acquiescence.

The perfect moment, with the perfect doe-eyed waif of a girl, Janine.

God bless that bottle.