The Blond

The Blond is gorgeous. She just started working here about two months ago. She’s a tall girl, long and lean. No fat on her. Not that that’s terribly important to me, but she’s very fit. Looks like she’s about my age. Very tall, almost my height, but not quite. I love that. The length of her form is absolutely serpentine, like she’s always leaning back slightly, coiled. Reclining even while standing, she carries herself in an almost predatory pose. It’s like she’s ready to strike, but at the same time very aloof and relaxed. Whenever there is a problem, she’s always above it. She does not engage conflict. Loads of composure. At the same time, she takes no shit. Every aspect of her exudes a confident, light, buoyant tension. Her hair is absolutely straight and bobbed just slightly below her ears. She looks like a natural blond, and her lips are light pink and naturally fall into a pucker, like a sideways hourglass. Her ass must be as tight as a drum. She must come from better breeding stock than I do. She’s a perfect physical specimen. Of everybody in the office, she was the only one who showed up to the opening reception for my last painting exhibition. That meant a lot to me. I really appreciate that. Her boyfriend was there too. He seemed like a pretty cool guy.