1. Her sleeveless dress is tiny, black. It stops halfway up (down?) her thighs, pale, creamy, white. The dress is tight – too tight for a morning commute – and stretches at her breasts. Her fingers and toes are painted turquoise. Her lips are thin, moist. Her eyes are closed (?), or at least, they face down, toward my crotch. She sits beneath me.
2. Her knee-high leather boots, brown, rise over tight black jeans. She wears a green khaki jacket, loose-fitting, over a grey and black sweater. Her shiny blonde hair hangs down to her waist, framing her freckled face. Her eyelids are painted, just a little garishly, an iridescent blue. She wears too much (black) mascara. Her fingernails – short, bitten – are purple, almost black. She stands an inch or two taller than me, her perfect ass inches from my crotch.