She was young. Too young some would say, but what was too young aside from some subjective number that made their own moral conscience quiet down enough to let them be appreciate beauty and be aroused. What really is the difference between a mature twenty year old and an immature twenty-eight year old? The barely twenty-year old working overtime while shes young and single while the late-twenties girl parties and pockets sexual encounters like they are twenty dollar bills.
I have no idea which she is but I do know she has everything empirically possible to make a man weep. Summer days like today almost make you wish you never got out of bed. The heat and sun making the excruciating combination of lust and arousal. The shorts that cut off so high you’re not sure if they’d be considered delicate or casual.
Her tank top low and sheer, covering only what playboy made its billions from. Lipstick and perfume to enhance her spell. Does she do it on purpose or just for herself? She certainly doesn’t flaunt it, simply laughing with friends and smiling as she should always be doing.
She’s incredible. She’s the personification of sexual lust. She’s admired and adored and probably knows it. Respectfully I don’t stare. I don’t leer or pursue. Merely catching a fleeting glance of something burning with such vivid allure and then having her float off into the distance like a butterfly, worth it just to know she’s out there in the world.