I walk with the security of who knows his body and enjoys it. My curves do not hide, they are celebrated: the marked waist, the firm hips and a chest that late with the strength of a woman who has loved and has been loved. My skin, warm and soft, keeps the memory of caresses and nights without hurry. Blonde hair falls free on my shoulders, touching a back that knows what it is to shudder. My talk looks before my lips: mixture of tenderness and desire, complicity and mischief. I don't need to shout to listen to me; My [more]
