So I’d just walked into my 10th High School reunion party when I saw her. Jenny Jones (not her real name, because her real name is Sarah Smith and she’d probably be annoyed about it being used in a dirty story online), my all-time HS crush. She was an unidentifyable mix of French and Asian and Black and Canadian and Jewish, she stood between 5’0” and 6’1”, with long thick slender legs and impossibly-perky antigravity-enabled tits that my cyborg-vision instantly identified as being perfect natural DD’s. Her flawless skin was pale like moonlight while also sporting a perfectly-smooth tan that definitely came from working outdoors rather than a tanning bed, and her makeup was bold and tastefully understated.
Jenny had been the captain of our schools volleyball team and soccer team and cheer squad and chess club, and had the ass and brains to match. I’d been madly in love with her when we were teens, but back then I was totally invisible to girls like her. We’d kept in loose contact on FB, and I’d come to really respect and admire her for her inspiring work to save orphans while also competing at the national level in woman’s synchronized diving, but it was clear she’d never forgotten her small-town roots, because her dirty pickup truck had a novelty license-plate holder that read “I’VE NEVER FORGOTTEN MY SMALL-TOWN ROOTS” and it was in her profile pic.