Before I even round the corner, I hear the humming of a busy woman, sultry, sexy, experienced in the ways of pleasing the self while pleasing the man. Keep in mind that all these thoughts had been triggered simply by my perception of the woman’s hummed tune. As I rounded the corner, my eyes were greeted by the sight of Mariana’s small, sandal-clad feet, healthy, creamy bronze calves and knees and thighs, giving way to the crown jewel, one of the finest, roundest asses mankind has thus far been able to produce, clad only in the dangerously short hem of her silk sundress. Atop her beautiful behind sat a feminine, inward-curving waist and fascinatingly flat stomach, atop which she carried a pair of perfectly perky large-B/small-C-sized-tits, clad, per usual, in very little, very thin fabric; her bras had stayed in their drawer for years collecting dust; her protruding nipples provocatively reiterated the absence of a brassier. Her square shoulders and well-defined neck supported a head and face that possessed a perfectly proportional play between curvy and angular. Her plump, glossy lips brandished a winning smile, her Latin appeal enhanced fully by her liberally applied mascara. Her deep brown eyes penetrate my soul. I begin to wonder how much of this intense thought and visual sensation is marijuana-induced.
I notice that, behind Mariana, three black nondescript bags, about the size of grocery bags, sit atop the counter where she is leaning. It seems to me, although I think it unwise to trust myself too strongly, that Mariana seems to be protecting these bags, and she fears that I might want whatever is inside those bags. Naturally, my first thought, irrational though it may be, is that there’s bud in those bags, a whole lot of it. I guess it’s just because I got my mind on the Mary and the Mary on my mind. That thought is dismissed quickly, though probably not quickly enough. After what has in reality only been a few seconds, during which I was absorbing the environment based on sensations, I speak, “Hey, Mariana, what are you doing up so late?” somewhat surprised at the normality in the tone and rhythm of my speaking.
“Oh, I’ve been shopping…,” she hesitantly replies, with a wry smile and a narrowing of the eyes in an almost challenging expression.
“Oh, really? What were you shopping for in the middle of the night?”
“Oh, nothing…”
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