Muse

My Muse:

She was a petite girl, slender, lovely and modeled as if some force had taken pleasure in embellishing her, but the elegance of her figure in no way detracted from her animalistic allure, she was quite delicate, and the most succulent fruits graced by a skin fairer than the purest white framed by her raven black hair, often induced me to consider that she was a Galatea; the perfect woman in the form of an image. Her face was a small and delicate, her features perfectly symmetrical, her look more majestic than gentle, more grandoise than subtle. Her eyes were unusually large, brown, and full of mischief; her mouth was small yet in perfect proportion and framed by the finest teeth imaginable, she had a narrow, wet, supple tongue, of the loveliest pink which rested on her teeth. She was pert breasted, fair as alabaster and just as firm. Her soft brown nipples were erect and attentive. Her flat stomach led down to a thin well trimmed rectangle of pubic hair. Her ivory legs were open revealing a small rose lipped cherry. I surveyed her body up and down. On the other side of the page her back was turned in an extraordinary way, its lines sweeping deliciously down then back up again. Nothing could have been more perfectly round, small, but firm, white, dimpled; and peeping out the most innocent, delicate hole.