RykerI had never paid much attention to what women wore. To get my attention they typically dressed themselves in the finest clothing they had. Jewelry, heels, gowns, the works. They thought it impressed me. It should have.I liked Ophelia most when she wore those small jean shorts that hugged her bottom while she ran across the beach. The little lace tank top she paired with it barely concealed her perky breasts. It wasn’t at all modest, but she was oblivious to that fact. Tomorrow she’d quietly whine and pout, muttering about the horrible sunburn she had. A sunburn that traveled down her chest to the soft swells I wanted to taste.Ophelia was the warmth of Lunar Isle. She was the brightest of colors and softest of sounds.The memory left as quickly as it had come.We talked as we danced. She had her back flush against my chest, her chin tipped to the side as she spoke. Back and forth we went. She was intoxicated from something and would need to be watched. As for me, I was drunk on
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