A stretched out t-shirt scarcely covers the delicate flesh. It exposes, though, two drum sticks, if you will. A pair of legs that you would never want to stop savouring, one bent half way revealing the portfolio of a finely tuned piano. The other straightened showing the beauty of power; several horses race by, the perfect contrast between strength and beauty extending all the way up to the promise land. She wears nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of rugged boots. Hard and graceful, smelling of vanilla, cloves and peach nectar, feeling soft to the touch, smooth as you reach up for the nectar. Feeling the tiny frills lining the edge, somewhat lacy running along the worn out perimeter, of the bottom of the t-shirt. Soft, cotton ball soft shirt reveals so much of what is to be seen, but none is every seen. One can only imagine the soft and silky skin running up to the collar of this lead like t-shirt. The contours of two lovely rounded breasts, sitting on them are two perfectly pink rose buds; delicate to the touch but firm, standing up to say hello and play. But not today for they can’t come out to play. Not today. Just south of the hills lays a small expanse of flat lands like the prairie lands. A tight lil’tummy with a petite lil'naval, an iny. All the icing of the cake, never will that sweetness be tasted nor that cherry eaten. Above it all she wears a mask of darkness, lighting very little of her face but enough to see the amethysts she uses to look out of. Stare at them and be lost in an endless sea of purple-blue. Big poutie lips so luscious and red. Full, soft and sweet to the touch and firm on the kiss. Mau.
