Silent desire

It had become late once again. Around 6 pm I finally arrived home. The unspeakable heat lasted now already two weeks. Already with the first look through the large glass pane to the outside I noticed beside my partner another probably unknown female person on one of the couches. The two women had obviously made themselves comfortable and enjoyed the heat of the day in the shade of the terrace. <br/> After I had put my jacket and my briefcase in the hall, I was relieved and headed for the garden. I had just crossed the wide open sliding door when my gaze fell on the legs of that stranger. They were long, strong limbs. In their firmness and tautness they radiated that erotic allure that only a mature woman&apos;s leg can convey. These scrawny, bony stilts of the coat-stands, who call themselves models, may be the epitome of slimness. They are absolutely useless as an erotic signal to a man. They seem to be screwed together from metal parts and only radiate cool objectivity. How different were these women&apos;s legs, which in their round opulence, in the vastness of smooth skin threw a silent desire at me: they wanted to be caressed and caressed. Everything about them seemed to call out to touch them gently with the palm of my hand and massage them until every single hair on them straightened up and a pleasant shiver ran down to the lowest regions of their owner.