We grew apart, then we were just friends, now it’s been four years and here we were. It’s like we’re nervous teenagers again… for me at least.... I keep looking at him. My eyes graze down his stomach, over his tan skin and tight stomach. He’s lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. I’m on my side facing him and suddenly realize how little clothing we’re both wearing, and how this could be my last chance. I reach over and put my hand on his shoulder, "Hey, are you okay?" He looks at me like. We knew, even at that age what he was doing, and we giggled and accommodated, by proudly displaying what we thought he wanted to see.Back then it meant nothing to us, so we were blasé, whenever he turned-up, and gave him a show in an unspoken understanding, and in return he became our friend, our confidant, and as we grew older and our bodies developed, we gradually explored those secrets behind the bouncing newspaper, bit by bit, counting each new hair on my cunt, as he held me open and tasted. More

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