"He passed the test!" shouted Linda. "He even knew what color each of the Sailor Scouts uses!"

"So, are you going to show Mr. Pyle to your room?" asked Mrs. Granados.

"Not yet," answered Angeles. "We have to tell the rest of them. Go ahead and have another glass of wine. And give one to Mr. Pyle. He deserves it."

All three women laughed. Mrs. Rivera shrugged and poured four glasses of wine. As the girls walked off, I couldn't help but notice that Linda's nightshirt seemed to have ridden up again (revealing more of her panties), while Angeles's pajama bottom seemed to have shifted downward (revealing the top of the crack of her ass). The women didn't seem to notice.

A few minutes later Angeles returned; her pajama top somehow seemed a bit higher, and her bottoms were definitely a bit lower--there was a lot of tummy showing, and I could even see the creases where her legs joined her pelvis. "Have you finished your wine?" she asked.

"Yes, I have."

"Okay, then follow me," she said. "Everybody except me and Linda changed and I think Janet."

"Linda and me, dear," corrected her mother.

I didn't want to be pedantic about it, so I kept my mouth shut rather than explaining that it should actually be 'Linda and I.' Angeles grabbed my hand and took me back to the living room. She shifted her hand as she led me upstairs, causing me to brush against her ass. She smiled silently at me, and at the top of the staircase she knocked on a door. "Who is it?"

"It's me," answered Angeles. "Mr. Pyle and me. Let us in."

The door opened and we went inside. The room was dark, and I heard the door close and the lock 'click' before the light was turned on.

The room was large with white walls and pink calico curtains on the windows. In the center of the room there was a king-size bed, which struck me as appropriate for a slumber party but out-of-place in a child's bedroom. The furniture--a vanity, a dresser, and a desk--looked like they were made of solid oak. On the other side of the bed there was a large closet and some kind of a door. The walls were covered with posters of pop stars, TV stars, and strange anime characters; there were also several shelves covered with books, stuffed animals, and what looked like a collection of ceramic fairies. The floor was carpeted, but this was covered with sleeping bags, backpacks, and overnight cases. In other words, except for the unusual bed, there was nothing extraordinary about the room itself.

Nevertheless, 'bizarre' is the word that I would use to describe my initial reaction. There were a dozen girls in the room--on the bed, on the two chairs, or on the floor, and except for Angeles, all were frozen in place as if they were posing for a preteen modeling site on the Web. Linda was in the middle of the bed; her red nightshirt had been pulled up to her waist, and I could easily read the 'Have a nice day' slogan written with red letters on her yellow panties. Slightly behind her and to her left was Sally Waters, fully clothed in a short, plaid skirt, a long-sleeved blouse with a necktie, and black knee socks. She was sitting in such a way that I had a perfect upskirt view of her white panties.

To Sally's right, directly behind Linda, was Jill Evans. Jill was an eighth-grader who had been in my class two years earlier. Jill was wearing nothing except white panties and a matching, well-rounded bra.

"Wow," I said stupidly. "Wow."

"Everyone from class is here except Paola, who said she couldn't make it because she had to go to the orthodontist, and Cathy," said Angeles. "Cathy came earlier but she couldn't stay overnight. I think she had to go to her father's house and he lives in Waukegan or Wauconda or something. I think you know everyone here except my little sister, Katie. Say hi, Katie."

"Hi, Katie," I said.

"Hi," answered the little girl. She was sitting in the right-hand corner of the foot of the bed, and she was wearing nothing but light blue panties with yellow and green flowers on them and a white camisole that had a blue bow at the neck. "Katie is seven and she's only in second grade," continued Angeles. "But I love her, and she's been real good. Jill is my next-door neighbor; she said you were her teacher two years ago."

"Yeah, she was in my class," I said. "It's nice to see you. You've really ... ah ... grown up."

"Hello, Mr. Pyle," she answered. "I wish I had more cool teachers like you."

"Oh, you don't know Camille, but you met her mother," said Angeles. "Mrs. McCain and my mom were roommates at college, so they're real good friends. Camille's my friend too. She's like a year older than me; she's ten-and-a-half."

"Eleven-and-eleven-twelfths; I'll be twelve in three weeks," corrected the blonde fox. She was on hands and knees on the bed behind Katie. She was wearing a short black flare skirt and a lilac-colored blouse; unlike the other girls, I couldn't see her panties or bra, and since she was at right angles to me I couldn't see her titties down the front of her blouse. It was the black garter belt, the thigh-high brown-sheer nylon stockings, and the black pumps with two-inch-and-a-half inch heels that made her such a knockout. But I had to ask myself--what kind of woman sends her preteen daughter to a slumber party dressed like that?

"How do you do, Camille?" I asked, stretching my hand.

She took my hand in hers. I gallantly kissed it, and she said, "How do you do, Mr. Pyle. Is everything they've been telling me about you true?"

"I don't know!" I laughed. "I don't know what they've been telling you."

"Look at his pants!" This was from Nancy Wells, who was sitting majestically in a large chair to the right of the bed, in front of the computer. Like Katie, she was wearing panties and a camisole, although Nancy's outfit was flesh-colored. Her panties had the so-called 'boy-cut, ' but there is nothing boyish about lace. It was as if she (or her mother) had purchased the outfit especially for the occasion, perhaps to awe the other girls. The other thing that struck me is that she was wearing bright red shoes with two-inch spiked heels. Do girls this age even know how to walk in such heels? And again--at a slumber party? What gives?

Next to Nancy was a very sweet Diane Summerville. Diane has long, curly brown hair, and since her back was to me, I was able to admire the way in which it cascaded down her back onto her blue T-shirt. Of course, more impressive than any T-shirt was the fact that she wasn't wearing pants or a skirt. She did have pink tights with blue markings. The stockings were sheer enough to get a good look at her ass cheeks, although her crack was covered by a red thong.

The other girl on the right side of the room was Lois Langstrom. Lois was sitting on an easy chair in the corner, legs spread wide, with one up and the other hanging down. Lois is a gymnast with short, dark hair. She was wearing a light-blue bra and matching bikini panties that were pulled so tight that I could see her pussy lips as clearly as in the story Angeles and Linda had me read. It was no wonder why she always left the spectators with their tongues hanging out when she performed at a gymnastics meet.

Four other girls were standing on the other side of the room. Bridget Williams was closest. She was wearing a chain with a cross around her neck, and she was sitting on the floor in what could have been taken as a two-piece bathing suit. It was white with fuchsia trim and had large drawings of tulips in red, violet, and dark purple on it. What differentiated it from a bathing suit was the fact that the legs were so loose that I could practically see little Bridget's vagina; a different angle would have bared all. My nemesis, Abigail Addams, was next. Abigail's jeans were open at the waist and the zipper was down; she had one of those poses that is considered just too sexy for a preteen even on a nonnude modeling site. She was wearing brown-and-yellow striped bikini underpants and a matching bra; on anyone else it would have had me drooling. Standing next to Abigail was one of the twins, Betty or Buffy Macintyre. Her sister was standing right next to her. The girls were wearing identical halter tops and nearly-sheer white bikini briefs. Suddenly I noticed that one girl had a small, crescent-shaped birthmark on her upper leg at the level of her pelvis. At last I had some way to distinguish the girls! Of course, it would be a bit inconvenient if every time one of the girls raised her hand I had to pull down her pants before calling on her. Fun, but inconvenient.

"Are you Buffy?" I asked the girl with the birthmark. "No, I'm Betty. She's Buffy." "Uh!" I groaned; I never got it right.

Just then the mysterious door opened; it must lead to a bathroom, I decided. Out walked Janet Stoll, a cute girl whose pointy little breast buds stood out from under a pink nightshirt that bore the legend 'Somebody who loves me bought this in Myrtle Beach.' She giggled and said, "Hello, Mr. Pyle," as she lifted her nightshirt above her waist. She was wearing bright red panties that clashed with her nightshirt.

"Hello Janet," I answered. "And hello to all the rest of you. Well, anyway, I wanted to say thank you to all of you for ... um ... waiting up like this. I didn't expect you to ... um ... dress like this. You all look so nice. And happy birthday to Angeles, of course. What more can I say?"