She lit her fourth stick and puffed it with utter disdain, sitting in bed and looking at the guy whom she slept with. Another puff came out of her mouth, this time slowly blowing it off, playing with the smoke as her mind tried to focus on what occurred last night.
He has always been the guy that she dreamt of, the perfect guy, the Mr. Right if I may so. He danced with her and proudly showed her off to his friends, his girl who has always been sweet and smart. His perfect girl. She grinned at the thought of the word that he used to describe her. Perfection, a cruel perfection from a girl that lusts for someone else, that reeks of sex and bathes with another man in the morning and slept with him at night.
His perfect girl that makes hearty dinner that welcomed him once he got home, who sew his torn clothes and massages his tired muscles as he slowly drifts to sleep; is the same perfect girl that excites another man’s needs and slowly caresses his ego and drives him crazy as she allows him to ravish her in his car. Oh she is too perfect, really a description of a woman’s perfection, her loving demeanor, her femininity, her charm, her whiles and even her wanton body.
She grinned as she touches her left temple as her mind runs back to the way he kissed her, from her temples to her jaw down to her clavicle, snipping, tasting every bit of her flesh. She closed her eyes to make her come back to reality. “Geesh! I reek of sex”, was all she could say to herself, yet this is not caused by the guy she is thinking of, but of the man who is sleeping in bed next to her, the one who thought of her as the perfect girl, the world’s Mr. Right.