Alvaro Black
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the light, yet shielding fabric, and it seemed to take forever to reach the bend in her covered legs, and again to her splendid waist. With a straight and proper back she sat there, a perfect line upward, her dress wrapped tightly, but not oppressively around the contours of her body. Bare-arms braced her against the bar, giving her the leverage to swing in the seat, just below, perky breasts, more than a handful, pressed against the flowers, bending and bowing the floral print, curving perfectly in the imaginary hand I slide around them. More and more I feel a desperate clinging in my slacks. A need to know more about this angel I stare at. Knowing that a moment with her would be worth a thousand lifetimes, a million moments of denial, for moments of lust to be with