Sometimes your fantasies don’t measure up to what really happens.
She had come to my house wearing a white blouse, the tails of which were tied together to act as a halter top. She was not tall by any means – but then again, neither am I. She had piercing brown eyes and long flowing dark hair. Or so she usually did before tonight. Tonight, her hair was braided in pigtails.
Her name was Emma, and at the time she was 28, though she was tonight attempting a much younger look. She was sucking on a lollipop as she skipped into the room, somehow swaying her hips through the skipping. She was wearing a blue-based plaid miniskirt. I suspected that she wore the matching blue panties only to assure herself that nothing would show inappropriately on her way over to see me.