She was beautiful. Not hot, or sexy, but beautiful. Kind of like how you can look at a statue of a woman and think “That’s a beautiful statue”. You recognize how aesthetically pleasing it is, but you don’t have dreams of fucking the Venus de Milo. She appeared to be in her mid thirties to early forties. Her shoulder-length raven hair struck against her white blouse and black skirt. Her red lips popped. Her green eyes took Dante in, and an audible gasp escaped her lips.
“I’m……bluuuurrgh!” Dante gasped between waves, “sorry….bluuurrgh!” Dante wanted to die of embarrassment right there. The woman rushed over to Dante and took a knee as she gently stroked his hair.
