July 26, 2008
Roses on Fishnet Stockings
On the V train:
Caramel skin and she smelled like vanilla. Her hat was knit, covering her head like a something poofy and french, brown ringlets poking deliberately out from under it. Her jacket was mocha coffee colored suede with white fur at the seams, it came in stylishly at the waist and flared at the bust, unbuttoned to reveal delicious curves, cleavage. I don’t usually notice cleavage. Hers was near perfect.
On the E train:
Snow white: ruby lips, raven hair, creamy skin. Stop staring, I tell myself.
At Union Square:
Roses embroidered on the backs of her fishnet stockings. Black heels, not delicate, but not clunky either, rather very solid, firm. I wanted to bite each rose from her calf. Tear it with my teeth.
Clearly something is happeneing to my libido today. I do go through these moods occasionally. I wonder where I am in my cycle, if this corresponds.
Makes me wish I had someone to call & fuck.
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