Emily doesn’t join

She lives far away, and couldn’t join my fantasy.

But she wanted me to be able to imagine her joining in. “I want to see you in a black dress, and black boyshorts.” I said this to her a few days before. (Emily wasn’t the only woman I said this to.)

It took some persuading, but finally, finally, she sent me four pictures. Not enough, by a long stretch. And not in a wide variety of poses, as I’d asked.

In the first, she stands against a white wall, her right arm behind her, bracing her, and her left, pressing against the wall with her fingertips. Her left knee is bent, lifted, a little blurry, as if she’s walking – or about to take a step – toward the camera. The dress is plain cotton, scoop-neck. It doesn’t cling, doesn’t show much of her body. It stops mid-thigh.

In the second, she’s bent over, leaning toward the camera, giving me a better view of the strap of the dress over her right shoulder. Straps, really – it’s now clear there are two. The scoop neck, also, in this view is a bit more revealing, not so high, and the space between her pretty little breasts, the curves of them, are visible. As is her sunburn. (She just got back from a very warm place.) In this shot, she’s hiking up her dress with her right hand, showing me the edge of her outer thigh, but not of her inner thigh. As with almost everything she gives me, it’s a tease. A tantalizing tease. A tease that would be much more bearable if she also gave me what I want.

In the third, she’s standing up again, straight. Again, she lifts her dress for me, this time, with her left hand. She’s lifting it higher, showing me her boyshorts, plainly. She’s matter-of-fact in this pose. She’s not saying, “I’m turned on.” She’s not saying, “I hope I’m making your dick hard.” She’s saying, “See? You asked me to wear boyshorts, and I’m wearing boyshorts.”

In the final shot, she’s turned herself sideways, and gathered the dress up around her belly. Her ass fills up the middle of the screen, delicious, pale, round. The boyshorts cling to it, stretched by it, barely reaching 2/3 of the way down from the top.

I can’t see her face, but her posture, this time, is a bit sexier: “I know you want this,” she seems to be saying.

And I do.

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