I like your style

I was distracted from my purpose – stopping at the bank – by a stunning Ivory girl of a blonde. Statuesque, slender, still curvy, and freckled, with high cheekbones and bright green eyes. She wore a shift, in the same green as her eyes. Her legs, tan, lean, rose from the ground and disappeared into the invitingly wide diameter of the bottom of the shift.

Seeing her sent me into a reverie, and I walked right past the bank. But only 5 feet or so, when I remembered why I was there.

I turned on my heels and headed back toward the bank, just as she did the same.

For a moment, I feared she might think I was stalking her. (I honestly wasn’t.)

I did my banking, self-consciously leaving an ATM between us, unoccupied, as evidence of my harmlessness. I completed my banking particularly quickly – as did she – and we both exited together.

As we did, as she held the door for me, she said, “I like your style!”

We walked a block together, complimenting one another.

And she was gone.

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