December 22, 2017:

That one wanted to wrestle.

She was beautiful. Tall, tawny, very fit in a '70s natural pre-gym-era way. Her hair was soft, her breasts small, her thighs smooth and strong as a vice. We wanted each other, but there was depression on both parts, and a bashful lack of experience.

So we drank and wrestled. Pinning her was difficult, she was very strong and extremely stubbornly determined. Yet once she was defeated I had free reign over her body, where "reign" is an apt pun. It was an unspoken form of BDSM. I'd pull up her shirt, pinch her nipples, squeeze between her legs. She'd pant and kick but it was part of the game. She never cried out or fought in a way that might have caused me harm. It was all about submission after struggle. Yet she would never let me kiss her in submission. All the feels I wanted, but no making out. That was the line she drew and never once let me cross.

She was so lovely. And so moody, and so determined to maintain her independence.