When the door is closed behind the two of you, she removes your shirt over your head. You put out your hands, & give her a questioning look. Not wasting time to talk, she unbuttons the fly of your jeans. “You’re a wrestling fan, right?”, she finally asks when you stand there in only your boxers.
“Who would come to an event called Wrestlemania that wasn’t a wrestling fan?”, you ask in response. “Point taken,” she says, then continues, “You watch tag-team wrestling?”
“Of course,” you answer, again not hiding your opinion as to the need of this line of questions. “Then you know,” she says, “that a key to a good tag team is working together well,… No one person doing more or less than the other.”
“OK,” you tell her. “So, I thought maybe you & I could form our own partnership of sorts,” she says. “Kinda like, you wash my back, & I’ll wash yours. Along with anything else our hands happen to find their way to. It’s up to you. You can follow me, or see yourself out.”
You glance away from her face, & see the black sweat-clothes have been replaced by a bikini covered in black-&-white squares. She steps into the bathtub, closes the curtain, & turns on the shower-head. It isn’t long before you hear Stacy moaning from the feeling of the warm water & steam, & see the outline of her hands rubbing along her body. |