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Queen Tami’s procession

While Tami was gathering with the rest of the marchers yesterday Rod had lunch with Brad and Mayree, up from Boston, catching up on each other’s lives, then the three of them had stationed themselves midway down the route. Campbell was a small town, largely an appendage of the college, and it seemed like every single person was out along Main Street. He wished the weather was a bit better. A damp, chilly day, the kind where the cold dampness just pierces right through you. Impossible to stay warm even in an overcoat and scarf, especially when standing waiting. And then a flurry began, wet early-spring flakes that looked as big as marshmallows.

The street was cleared and the sound of drums and horns told them the parade was nearing. Sure enough Tami was leading. She had been given the option of standing up in a float but had decided to just walk. As he knew well by now, feeling the earth against her bare feet gave her confidence and energy.

She plied the big marshal’s stick in her hand, using it as a walking stick, as she paced carefully but proudly all alone in front, her bareness totally on view, wearing her nakedness as if it was the most resplendent outfit in the parade. Her hair was green and shiny, one of Mayree’s masterpieces, dancing as she walked, framing her beautiful face and being the same shade of green as her eyes. The big snowflakes stuck to it like God was adding his own highlights to Mayree’s handiwork.

Green sparkles were over the tops of her breasts, and down below on her concave tummy. Her green pubic hair was abundant, teased out and fluffy, as carefully done up as the hair on her head, and catching its share of snowflakes too. Green was also the color of her fingernails and toenails.

What was most striking was her bearing. Her feet paced the wet asphalt with the well-bred gait of royalty. And her smile and her wave to the crowds. She was like a good-natured and popular queen “doing my queen thing” with aplomb, but not too much seriousness.

And the cheering.

Everyone knew Tami, of course, and every single person whistled and applauded as she passed. It made Rod, once again, proud to be hers. And then he felt himself privileged as she saw him and ran over, giving him a big kiss and hug, before scampering back out to the middle of the street to continue her queenly duties, her breasts bouncing into place.

Now she went on and Rod and Brad and Mayree found themselves looking at the Mayor’s float, then the firemen, then the high school band, the majorettes in long-sleeved leotards and protected from the cold by what looked like three layers of black tights.

Their last glimpse of Tami made them laugh once again. As her bare buns retreated from them they could see the green shamrocks painted in the exact center of each, jiggling very slightly with the motions of her tight glutes. “Good work, Mayree,” Rod said with a chuckle. “Fine job,” Brad said, giving Mayree a kiss.

Later the three of them went to Scholar’s with half the rest of the town and watched Tami drink buckets of green beer, tie and untie about a dozen pairs of shoes with her toes, and give an only partly off-key rendition of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” while standing on top of the bar. They drank too but could not keep pace with their naked companion. By then it was dark, and he had to prop her up as she staggered through the slush back to the house.

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