There are girls, pretty girls, attractive girls, beautiful girls, and, rarest, stunningly beautiful girls. Where the first glimpse stops me, and I am compelled to look more fully. But I can't linger, it would be inappropriate (in this climate) to stare too long.
What draws me in are the curves. Curves everywhere- cheeks, shoulders, breasts, back, hips, behind. How a woman moves to emphasise her shape. I'd want to explore with my eyes how her curves fit together to make the whole. I don't need to do this consciously, some neuron in my brain which finds the pattern and sounds the alert. It floods my senses, blinding me. An inner conflict between the need to see again and the superego that warns to not get too close. It's not a directly sexual feeling, but it is a proto-lust. In a distant, more primitive time, I would stay close, I would fight for her against her other suitors.
I do not expect any more than just this vision. But once a strange thing happened, as she smiled back at me. I was so out of practice that the message almost got lost. Stunningly beautiful girl wouldn't be flirting with me, would she?
Now I can do more tha just see, I can hold the curves under my hands, trace their lines. I have beheld, and with my cheek pressed closely to yours, sent out my fleet of ships to explore your recesses. They have made curves raised across your belly.
I want to rest my hand on our back, and scrutinize your face, how your hair rises and falls. To run the fingers of my other hand up to caress the rest of your curves. To keep you full and content. To see what happens next. To make some proposals and watch you laugh, and then later, to watch you use your mouth and cheeks in the way you suggest.
