While she writes, my muscular chest synchronizes breathing with the beating of my heart as I whiff the erotic perfume of her hair. It smelled like lik... droplets of rain on a aloe plant in the rainforest and I looked down at her basking in her wonderful breast almost purposfully pushing against my stomach. When she finished, she didn't speak or even bat the eyelashes that settled so well with her eyes, she simply turned around, dropped the marker in her black, leather, Channel purse and walked. She lived in London, but was in New Zealand for a short time. I had been drawn to her amazing pictures: The long dark hair falling over her cheeks, those full, kissable, biteable, suckable lips. The even fuller breasts, falling out of her outfit in the pictures she had sent me. Her round arse, just begging for attention. After exchanging messages for a little while online we had agreed to chat, and I had Skyped her. There was an instant, intense and unbridled attraction between us and we had. More

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