If there could be anything right now, it would be my black haired Japanese girl lying down on the thick woollen rug in front of me, with her soft white skin in satin underwear - black french shorts and a bra that holds her firm, full breasts; the white of the rug defining the lines that run up and down her whole length. She suggests to me a tease, looking with mysterious eyes that can't quite be trusted, but her manner so obsequious that it is impossible to not love her.
'I'm here to entertain you.' she says, in tones of red and black, filling the vacuum that was my mundane day with a delicate delight. I look at her and smile, but say nothing, for at this moment I am not here, at least I am subjective. I look at her like an object animated, as if she were just the sum of her parts: flesh, skin, blood, bones, water and then other more complex organic compounds; but then these parts personified.
Small black cat she lies my Japanese girl, rolling over the rug that feels so soft under her skin. She lets me know how good she feels by running her fingers over her thighs and hips, over her chest and her breasts - taking time over her breasts, but with that gentle feminine touch that I can never quite control in moments of fervent passion.
Legs open and close; satin french shorts barely contain what lies beneath, yet disfigure the view just such that I am teased and tantilised. One hand moves from her breast down between her legs and instantly the room fills with the smell of her sex sweat, her inner self obviously warming and melting down in response to her own self stimulation.
I watch as she begins to thrash in slow motion, those slanted eyes, so demure, so dark, so mysterious - now closed, her eyeballs looking on the back of their lids at the spectrum of coloured sex, resting mainly in the frequencies of red, vermillion and on to a black in intensity.