Fond memories of my ex-wrestling opponent, when we used to play-fight because we liked feeling our bodies moving against each other but didn’t want to admit it out loud.

And then that time when you were around at my place wearing a checked shirt and a nervous but determined smile, and said “I’ve worked out a way to avoid having to explain to my mother how my buttons popped off again.” And then, blushing, you slowly unbuttoned your shirt, revealing your cleavage and bra-less breasts.

Then my hands cupping you, snaking around your back, pulling you against me for round one...