Ways I want (need) to see Julie

1. Outfits

Athletic wear. Obvs. Shorts. Leggings/yoga pants. Skirts. Jog bras. Tight tanks. Leotards.

Skirts and dresses. Short. Long. Flouncy. Sundresses. Bridesmaid’s dresses. Bodycon. All of them. And more.

Professional attire. Slacks. Button down blouses. Tight tops. Suits.

Casual attire. Jeans. Leggings. Shorts.

Summer garb. Short shorts. Shorter shorts. Really fucking short shorts. Tanks. Crop tops. Tight t-shirts.

Beach wear. Bikinis (every one she owns). One-pieces. Sarongs.

Tights/pantyhose. With panties beneath. Without.

Lingerie, generally. Sexy. Mundane. And in particular:

Boyshorts. Bikini bottoms. Thongs.

Bras: lacy. Opaque. Sheer. Bralettes. Camisoles.




And, really, in just about everything she owns I’m not picky. I want it all.

2. Views I crave:

Her pretty face. Smiling. Breathing mindfully. Eyes closed. Eyes open.

Her pretty ass. Standing. Bending. Squatting. Sitting. Lying, her legs lifted, her legs twisted to one side. She’s worn a skirt and a thong a couple of times; I haven’t seen nearly enough of the crease between her ass and her thighs, of the flesh of her ass itself. I need more of that. Much much more.

Her thighs and cunt. Squatting. Bending/reaching back. Sitting, thighs together, clit squeezed. Sitting, thighs apart, butterflied.

Her round breasts. Confined, constricted, tightly bound. Loose, unconfined, bouncing. Straining against fabric. Brushing lightly against fabric. Protruding through soft fabric. Exposed by fabric falling away from her body.

Her muscular back, its shape betrayed by skin-tight fabric. Its flesh exposed to the air by a strappy, stringy bra.

Her neck, her clavicle, her cleavage.

Her upper arms, muscular, toned.

Her calves.

Her quads.

Her inner thighs.

In short? I just want it all. All of it.

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