At my most beautiful

I’m not pretty by any stretch. I have a face with character, one that improves when it’s animated, thinking, cheeky.  At best, in the right light, from the right angle, I could be considered cute.

I look my best when the weather is bitterly cold; when I become pale apart from the pink splashes on my cheeks, when my eyes seem to get brighter as the colour fades from the rest of my face.

Except –

I’m sure that during sex I turn the same attractive shade of magenta I tend to go during other exercise, or flushed but sallow as I do in summer before my freckles come out.

But afterwards – tonight – I look pale and rosy and wild and just fucked.
I look amazing.

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2 thoughts on “At my most beautiful

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