As I dress for work each day, I feel pretty good in my pin-striped button-down shirt; I may be seeing electrical contractors or Fortune 500 corporate types. But there are parts of me that those types never get to see.
Jennifer, or Jenny, is the all-American girl. She is a cheerleader. She is the color pink. She is lace. She is bubble baths. She is a lady.
Christie — she never goes by the name Christine — is every man’s desire. She is the head-turner. She is the color red. She is a tease. She is an alluring perfume. She is class.
I am looking forward to the day my fantasy is fulfilled. I would be traveling overnight, enjoying a drink in the hotel lounge. There is some nice jazz in the background as a tall, confident, sexy lady approaches my table.
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