...of the many times they used to wrestle and struggle on that same spot years back.
"What? What's so funny?" Gwen asked, readjusting her t-shirt.
Ben couldn't imagine any bigger of a turn-on.
There Gwen laid, hair in a wonderful tousled mess of auburn, t-shirt wrinkled and messed-up and her body almost eagle-spread.
"Nah, just thinking how we used to mess around on that same spot a few years back, remember? We were practically making out back then, too," he said, mischievously at that.
Gwen looked around for a good few seconds. The table legs were on her left, and the plate cabinet was on her right. Ben was right; this was the usual spot they used to tangle in for years. It sent a warm tingle down her spine when she remembered just how close they were when they had their physical bouts.
Since they were only 10, they couldn't have cared less about where they touched each other. And there was a lot of touching, none of them intentional, mind.
"Would've been hot, wouldn't it? Us getting touchy-feely at that age?" Ben suggested, Gwen's face growing red. Ben then proceeded to crawl over her and whispered into her ear.
"And you weren't even wearing a bra back then."
Gwen instantaneously squealed at Ben's risquÃ© comment, the boy getting off her.
And Ben couldn't get that image off his mind, either. A 10-year old version of Gwen, all feisty and tomboyish, with that notoriously body-hugging t-shirt of hers, splayed-out on the floor just ...