Jasmine

Om mig

Start at my shoulder and let your finger take the scenic route.

I noticed you looking, and that stolen glance did rather more than you intended. Picture the room. A quiet hotel suite, the good kind, lamplight instead of ceiling light. Brown eyes that catch you the moment you look up. Soft cheeks, a mouth like ripe strawberry, narrow shoulders, hair the colour of chocolate velvet that swings when I cross the floor. Keep going. Down the waist, over skin kept smooth and firm by more yoga than I care to admit. Naturally full, perky, handful sized… and then the curve of me you have been thinking about since the first photograph.

My whole approach to living is the pursuit of pleasure and joy, unapologetically and in that order. Lying in someone's arms afterwards, sharing something genuinely intimate, is a thing I have come to crave rather than merely enjoy. Your touch. The weight of you. Tell me what lights the fever in you and I will happily be the one who keeps it burning. I adore the company of a worldly, curious, slightly wicked gentleman, and a brilliant mind turns me on faster than a beautiful body ever has, which is an inconvenient way to be built. Literature, passion, skill, discipline… all of it interests me as much as the cologne at the back of your neck, and that is saying something.