Brown worn leather boots nearly reach her bare, pale knees. A blue and white dress – prim, proper, tight – glides over, clings to, her curves, stretched outward by her breasts. A gaudy, unappealing, turquoise necklace hangs just above those breasts.
Her lips, under maroon lipstick, are parted, slightly, as her brown eyes, obscured by her dark hair, focus, intently, on the Economist, resting on her elegant tan leather bag. A grey, woolen cardigan hangs over her shoulders. A gaudy diamond sits on a thick silver band on her ring finger.
My cock strains against my jeans.
I’m sure reading the Economist adds to the picture. You know, like good grammar turns me on.
With a dollop of snooty, intellectual snark? It brings me over the edge.