As I walked towards the coffee shop, I felt the breeze blowing up my short, flimsy skirt, feeling pert, all alert. It felt good on my naked pussy. It was my kind duty to spread myself around as much as possible. And when I say spread, I mean it literally. I did that by flashing my little triangular hair pie to all those men who struck my fancy on a fine summer day, when I wanted to play. I giggled in anticipation, an-ti-ci-pa-tion, it's making me late, keeping them waiting.
I sat in a corner of the al fresco coffee shop, just a short hop from the sex toy shop. The iron fence was behind me. In front were several couples having their morning lattes or whatnot. Some single souls with their laptops were scattered around the sidewalk sitting area, hiding hard ons, one guessed, or greasy, sleazy snatches. Two or three interesting men had marked me when I walked in. I stuck my tongue out and they grinned at me. I was fine and took my time, feeling divine.
I had tightly curled blond hair that gave me a pixie look, me being only five foot two, and eyes of blue, coochy, coochy, coochy, coo. I was by no means thin, but most men savored the curvy meat I had to offer. My legs were long for my height, with great curves and small feet in ballerina slippers. And I loved to skip along the street singing ditties to every man I met. Or the women, come to that. I loved tickling pussy. Yours or mine. Mine was a tickled pussy. I tickled where I could. Tickle me once, make me come. Tickle me twice, I'll be real nice.
I was waited on by a sweet, good enough to eat, treat of a waitress and she fairly quickly brought me my usual. Regular coffee, that is, with cream and sugar. I sipped it and blew her a kiss. It was hot. So was she, as she blushed at me. I let it cool for a few minutes as I took my time on this fine day, ready to play, feeling so gay.
I glanced around the open-air setting and checked out the opportunities for flashing. I homed in on a fellow, not too tall, but with large, brown, sensitive eyes, wearing a Greenpeace t-shirt and roomy shorts and sandals. He looked to be my type.
I slowly moved my position so that my body was facing him, not on a whim, but feeling trim, out on a limb. Then I slowly started spreading my legs to give him and him alone a good shot of my sweet cunny with its triangle of blond hair, so fair and rare. I was a true blond. As I spread my luscious thighs apart I glanced over under his table and noticed something interesting. His shorts were so roomy one could see up his legs. He wasn't wearing underwear, it wasn't there, his dick was bare. On one side I saw a cock head and it seemed to wink at me, with glee, as if it could see deep into me.
I raised my eyes to his, and he did, indeed, wink at me. Then he sucked his finger, held it to the wind, and winked again. He was a charmer, as was I. And he spread his legs to show me his manhood was hard and straining to get out. My little cunny started to cream, this was a dream, it leaked a stream. It always did, but usually not so fast. Now I was leaking pussy juice and getting my skirt totally wet. I was sure it was wafting upon the breeze to the other diners. My juices are pungent and fragrant and made to be savored. I am favored that way, I must say.
