I Like Girls

I like girls...all kinds of girls...tall girls and short girls, long thin straight girls, and pleasingly curved girls, younger girls and older girls -- the ones we called Ladies, in the days when girls aspired to a bit of class.

I like girls with generous bosoms that wobble when released and shimmy into place as the restraining bra is casually dispatched, settling into offerings that are richly laden and full of promise; or hard breasts that are narrow pointy, that sway while jutting out with a certain saucy impudence; or loosely sliding flattened-mounds of pancake boobs; or floppy little tits that jiggle in a most delightful way when she laughs; or tautly-rounded tits, perky tits with upturned nipples; firm, rubbery mounds which make two tidy handfuls, and feel warm and pleasantly pliable, even through layers of clothes; or flat-chested girls -- with hopeful titties emergent on maidenly nubile chests. And those fascinating nipples smiling at you; sensate, responsive nipples. Nipples that lie crinkled in quiet repose brushed into awakening. Nipple sticking straight out -- stiffened in excited arousal. Ones that are big and fat with wide disks of aureolae; or small and tight nipples; buttons of fleshy pink; dusky, pebbly-hard nipples; or protruding nipples of rich chocolate-ty brown.

And I love legs, slender smooth and shapely legs, bare and stockinged legs, and legs sheathed in glossy tights; long and tall feminine limbs that wrap around to draw me in, and squeeze my thrusting body in lusty urgency; silken thighs that fall open, loosely parted to be stroked and kissed; legs in sleek nylons and steepled heels that define the splendid architecture of those sensuous feminine contours, irresistibly drawing the caressing hand.

And what beauty can compare to the elegant curves of a well-made feminine bottom? To visually caress those high-set domes, those shapely behinds, pleasantly plump bottoms, tight-cheeked young bottoms; to test the bouncy resiliency of twin mounds that judder and sway with carnal delight. The snugly-skirted behind, the tightly-packed seat of a pair of smooth silken panties and, of course, the incomparable splendor of a mature womanly ass.

I love their hair, long hair, short hair, and cropped hair, hair in soft waves, or masses of curls, or straight, smooth sheets of fine-spun silk; all colors and tints and hues of hair. And a woman's eyes: eyes that when they look at you, with that fascinated look a woman can give to a man, makes you feel that you, and you alone, are the only man in world.

I thrill to the feel of a girl's soft warm body squirming under mine, writhing beneath my hands as she wallows in hot lust, helpless before the passion I've generated in her super-sensitive body -- every nerve resonating, tingling with electrifying pleasure. I want to explore every mound and curve and crack and crevice, using lips and mouth and tongue to savor those delicious contours, to bury my face in her perfumed hair, to sample her tastes and smells, to drown myself in that musky odor of moist feminine arousal. And I love to hear her whimpers, the moans and cries of passion, hot-breathed whispers urging me on, tiny pleas begging me not to stop -- never, never to stop.

But most of all, the thing I like about girls, is that each and every one of them is novel, unique, and fascinating, and they never seem to really know, just how simply wonderful they are.

The End