Girl Naked In Public - What Donald Trump Can Teach You About Naked Girls Live

It's a Saturday night, and I'm running around my apartment trying girls sleeping naked to get ready for my date with Troy, my new boyfriend. Things are going really well, his calm and rational behavior a nice detour from the passionate, unsustainable fuck fest that was my last relationship. Troy is vanilla, but a girl needs vanilla every once in avErotica a while. He opens doors, slowly hits each base before slipping off my panties, and it's usually pretty nice. I'm wearing a loose, flowing dress whose thin fabric clings to the supple curves of my body as if painted on in certain places.

It's strapless, but the dark blue fabric covers my perky chest nicely, contrasting against my pale skin and drawing the eye to a hint of my busty cleavage. The skirt flutters against my bare thighs teasingly, and a little black thong covers my smooth shaven lips beneath. Long, dark brown curls spill over my shoulders, the thick locks teasing at bare skin. I'm debating what shoes would be most sensible for the night when I hear my apartment door unlock and swing open.

By the time I get over the initial freeze of surprise and cross my bedroom, the door has already shut and lock again. "Adam?" I'm standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a look of surprise and anger taking to my porcelain features, my bright green eyes almost darkening in irritation. I find myself crossing both arms beneath my chest in a defensive stance, waiting for one hell of an explanation as I do finally recall having lent girl stripping him a key once when we were still dating months ago.

"Oh c'mon Nat, didn't you miss me?" There's a cocky confidence in his voice, and a lopsided grin skews his handsome features in a way that threatens to weaken my knees. He's several shades darker than I, a natural tan from a summer winding down, with a shock of dirty blonde hair that only accentuates his lazy surfer-boy stance. He's wearing jeans that precariously cling to the slant of his hip bones and even from here I can notice a bulge in his jeans that brings color to my cheeks.

A black tshirt holds closely to his sculpted, muscular frame and I find myself too flustered to ask all the right questions. "What the hell are you doing here?" I manage hotly, my irritation not entirely convincing. Already I find myself embarrassed by his affect on me. "Well I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by." his simple words implied well enough on their own but were still coupled with the shifting weight of his gaze unabashedly roaming my figure.

"I have a boyfriend." I point out immediately, feeling a twinge of guilt at the thought. "That's never stopped us before." an edge of laughter traces his words that only inflames my cheeks more. Who the fuck does he think he is? "C'mon," he adjusts his growing bulge pointedly and my eyes flicker down to the swell in his jeans. I find my mouth watering and my lower lips aching for attention in response.

I try to snap back out of the fanfuckingtastic memories of our sex but I'm too late, he's already undoing his jeans and pulling them down to reveal the outline of his cock over black boxer briefs.