That black dress that clung to her outlines,
as though she had immersed and drenched her hills and valleys in therapeutic sea
waters, on a breezy harmattan night.
Forget the dress;
it was the nooks, crannies, hills, valleys and ridges of her caramel frame that
drove me crazy.
She flounced past
me; no, her perfect breasts flounced past me.
And those pelvic regions swayed in a fiery
frenzy.
Then I caught a glimpse of the two perfect
oval loaves of fresh bread that hid beneath the clingy black dress. A living, breathing,
perfect mannequin, complete with all the best of feminine humanity!
Then
it was time to pay for my meal and my drinks…
Stunning lady;
fixated eyes, lost wallet.
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