I've wanted her for so long – ever since she started cutting my hair about 10 years ago. She's married, and after too many failures with women who are taken – once without my knowing she was in a relationship, once knowing she was but thinking I could save her from a bad relationship, and once knowing full well what I was doing but justifying it with desperate loneliness – I'm finished trying that game. But that doesn't stop the fantasies… or the dreams.
She's a little shorter than I am, perhaps 5' 4". Curves for days. She's about seven or eight years older than me and defines 'milf' to a T. But her best feature is her hair. Blonde curls that come down to about her jaw, not a single strand of hair that isn't twisted and bouncy. It's hair that says "innocently playful but flirty and sexy."
What I wouldn't give to have those golden curls between my legs, her bright blue eyes staring up at me, the twinkle of that single tiny diamond stud in her nose winking up at me as her perfectly pink tongue finishes me off. I want to know that those curls feel like, wrapped around my fingers, tickling my thighs and hips…