We’re at an artsy bar-b-que party with a bunch of friends and random strangers. I leave for a while to run an errand and when I return I see that she’s deep into a friendly conversation with an older guy who turns out to be a neighboring rancher from up the hill. He’s probably in his 60s and he’s very tall, at least six-foot-three, and is in obviously good shape.
Marisa has had a few glasses of wine and with one look I can tell that the guy has been flirting with her, and that he’s a tad bit disappointed when she introduces me as the boyfriend. But I have no problem with them chatting and carry on meeting people around the party and grazing the food table.
It’s interesting to see her standing next to someone so much taller, since me and her are almost eye-to-eye with me just a smidgeon over six-feet, and Marisa clocking in at five-eleven. But what’s most obvious is how the old boy is hypnotized by her cleavage, his gaze keeps magnetizing there with his head periodically jerking upwards out of the trance. It doesn’t hurt that she’s wearing a low-cut top that leaves little to the imagination regarding the pleasures to be had between her triple D’s.