Martina was barely 16 at the time of those photos, 18 now, yet somehow that was forgotten, for that summer when she dazzled at Roland Garros and Wimbl...don, everyone fell in love with the teenagers cute face and cuter butt! This was all going through my mind as she proceeded to her bed..still wearing her sneakers, sweatpants around her ankles and training jacket on top; she flung her shoes off, bottoms came off next, unzipped her jacket and threw it on the ground. There she was, white knickers. It was a summer evening, July I remember well :-P, I head to the dining room for dinner, my sister is sitting at the table and wearing a house tunic and I see her from behind and, since the back of the chair was halfway, I see her from behind, and I see her nice tight ass inside that tunic, I don't know what type and size of panties she had because the tunic was dark blue-night blue :-P but her buttocks sink well in the chair and so at that moment, also recalling an episode of a short time. He looked up and fixed his gaze on me and leaned back. He had a slight smile on his lips. I shivered at the memory of those lips. It had only been 12 hours since I had seen him but it felt like a million years. My skin smelled like him. I thought he looked pleased that I was here, in his office. I left my purse and sandals by the door and slowly walked to his desk. I moved the laptop and papers out of the way and leaned against the wood in front of him. He stayed where he was. Dressed in a dark. "What do I say to be polite, but that I definitely am not interested?"They both smirked and went into a whispered conference with each other. Then they said I should just say I was a lesbian. I thought about the irony of the situation. In a way it was true, I was a lesbian trapped in a male body. So to speak, anyway.It worked out pretty good, until the lesbians learned of it and started to hit on me. That's when the girls saved me. They let it be known that I was taken, and the others backed.
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