Sense of smell invokes sex and intellectualism. She swung her hips beautifully. What roundness; like the curvature of the earth (curves that went on forever). And a midriff that made a perfect inward swoop like a classic hourglass. She had a very slightly chubby tummy that peered from a cheery pink sweater every now and then (it enthralled me). Her breasts weren’t big, nor were they small, but occupied an ecstatic middle. Her lacy blue bra would occasionally make appearances when she would bend over to delicately pick an object from the ground with her willow fingers, or when she adjusted the position of her top, and everytime it did it seemed to clasp harder and demand temptation be obeyed (though it never was) . She wore tight blue jeans that accentuated her peach backside well. 1
When she hugged me, I could feel the softness of her skin, even beneath clinging clothes. Her face was angular yet soft, and her brilliant sexy eyes shone through like precious stones I’ve never seen. She liked old movies, and had perhaps seen more than I. An actress once, she was the scholarly type of girl some men ignore and others want to make love to when first they see them open their lovely mouths. 2
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Comments
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A nicely written account of a past memory. It was quaint and
mildly sexy with a romantic flare! I guess one had to be there
in order to get a complete appreciation.
Nice work!
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Ahhh. An intellectual man's favorite characteristics in his
version of the perfect woman. Makes me want to sign with my
girly name. But, alas, a rose by any other name is still the
same. ... buster -
I know this woman well, for she occupies my dreams. You forgot to mention that her neck smells of green apples and vanilla. You neglected to tell us how her voice has that sound of windchimes, crystalline and lilting. Still, I'd know her anywhere. Nicely written!
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