She was wearing a short-sleeved button-up blouse. It had the usual gap right at the point of attack so to speak, and I saw her sensible, white cotton...bra imprisoning those...those wonderful tits, and I was in fantasyland faster than you can say tatas. So it was a wet t-shirt contest in Florida on spring break and I was the judge. The first contestant was a bleach blonde in a white half shirt. Her nipples were already clearly visible through the fabric. I dumped the water on her, and it. She pulled into her carport and I parked behind her. As we were driving, it dawned on me that my workout clothes were still sweaty, which I figured I would mention to her. But, when we got there, she just grabbed my gym bag, and threw our gym clothes into the washer. “It’ll take about forty-five minutes to wash and dry. Can you wait?” I assured her that I had nothing scheduled, and could wait. I was, however, getting quite excited about our wrestling match. “How about a glass of wine while we. More

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