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I went to the Salon today to get my hair cut. The place was full of women baring thighs, shoulders, cleavage and tattoos. After the owner cut, styled and flat-ironed my hair, I went to the front of the salon to pay. The receptionist was sitting at a stylish polished steel-framed glass table. She was wearing a tight, black, short, stretchy-cotton dress. Did I mention it was short? Yes, it was very short. It barely covered her callipygous rump. As she took my credit card, she uncrossed her legs to reach for the credit card mandoline and flashed her pink-lace panties. She asked me, “Would you like to schedule your next appointment.” “Yes, in twelve weeks,” I replied. She wrote the date on a card and handed it to me. I think she liked me.
Thanks for sharing. I wanted it to go on . . .