I would say sure, why, and she would ask if I was in pain from my breasts not in a bra. I would just turn back to what I was doing and ignore it. Or s...e would come up from behind me and grab one and say “Hmmmm, I think a C”. I would yell “Cut it out” and go about my business. Then once, she came into the house early home from school. I was walking from the kitchen to the bedroom without my shirt, and she just stared. I stopped, looked at what she was looking at, and then started walking. Her nipples were purple, the colour of ripe figs. She still said nothing, as I leant forward and gently kissed first one and then the other, then more forcefully nibbling at one and fondling the other, then changing. Then a gentle kiss on the lips, and then a firmer kiss, and a first timid meeting of tongues.After what seemed an age, I sat up, still straddling her, and pulled my T-shirt over my head. I wasn't wearing a bra. I'd thought that far ahead. Our breasts pressed together, our nipples. More

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