As we walked along, Anya just in front of me, we hear rustling sounds in the undergrowth before a dog came leaping out. Soon after that, a middle aged...man stepped from around the corner in the path—he hardly seemed to see me, he was so focused on Anya, barely clothed and making a fuss of his dog. She crouched down and petted the dog, scratching it behind the ears. The dog loved this and licked at her thighs. ‘He’s lovely,’ Said Anya. ‘What’s your name?’ She asked the dog. ‘Blue.’ The man. In fact, we go back years. I can think of one of the first times I saw her. We actually grew up together. (But that's beside the point.)However, one year ago… I was seventeen years old at the time. She was sixteen. She remembered me. I remembered her. Jasmine had grown hips and a nice bubble butt. While I had bloomed into a taller man with a beard. To her, I was still that shy nerdy boy. To me, she was still the early bloomer. But that’s ok.A series of serendipitous events involving her. More

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