What is sexy?

I was thinking this morning. What is sexy? I'll tell you for me what sexy is. It's a woman dressed like above. I look at her and think that this woman is not flashy, is not sleezy, but carries herself in a manner where she doesn't have to sparkle herself up to get what she wants. She is educated. Has her own career. A good career. She takes in a man if she wants and when she wants him. On her terms. I'd have to earn my way into this woman's bed and probably would fail audition one. But she would be nice about it if I was respectful during my audition. If I was disrespectful she wouldn't give me the time of day. When I see women like this you just kind of know it. I'm an educated man. Educated enough to know I don't stand a chance. But part of her charm would be her taking the time to flatter me by thinking I do.

The other kind of woman is like this. In high school had to become a cheerleader to acquire anykind of attention, and when the competition got too tough she opted to be the girl that let the guys feel her up in the back of the bus to gain an edge. She dated the star quarterback and soon lost him to the college cheerleaders that awaited him at the school that gave him the scholarship. She couldn't afford to follow him to that school and though now 18, had never really had a job. There was always a guy who would pay her way and Daddy at home supplied the car.

She entered junior college to patronize her parents, but there was no school athletics to cheerlead to so had to resort to daisy dukes and tube tops to attract the other boys on campus who were also only in junior college to get their parents off their back too. Found a nice guy who was a lot of fun to be with, though not quite of the character that would ever let you introduce him to your parents. The partying took away time for school and soon found that wiggling your breasts in front of college professors didn't quite work as well as it did in High School as far as making up for never being in class or doing assignments go. Your parents now pressing made it an easy choice when the party man asked you to move into an apartment with him.

But things got tough when he quit his job and soon either the drugs kept him from having an erection or another pair of daisy dukes was getting the action. Parents quite told you not to come back after moving out with the guy they never really met so you have to take a job at what you do best. Hooters hired you right on the spot noticing your natural ability to draw a man's attention. The tips are good enough to not complain about the cook occasionaly copping a feel and a boozed up patron anonymously pinching your ass in a crowd.

I sit on a barstool and flirt with you. I tip you well. I work up the nerve to ask you out after work and you accept. You mention more than once that your roommate is not taking care of your needs. Like I care. But I'll make you feel special. Or as special as I possibly can while I fuck you doggie style in the backseat of the car your daddy bought you. I'll introduce the kink a couple of weeks later. If you balk I'll pretend that I feel sympathy for the loser you moved in with and dump you like the parts of a fast food burger one hesitates eating. Perhaps you'll just pretend you enjoy being fucked while cuffed, gagged and clamped but I'll enjoy your desperation to try to make me feel you do.

I think the desperation is the only thing we will ever have in common. But I'm ok with that if you are.