Isabelle
A thirty year-old woman of unidentifiable ethnicity, honey colored skin with light brown, loosely permed hair framing an exquisite visage. High cheek bones slide easily into a radiant smile as you gaze into eyes of an unusual hue. A dark, subtle red is painted with care upon her lips; medium-sized diamonds in white gold settings pierce the ears that listen intently to the intelligent things you say while ignoring the inflated bullshit you think will win her heart. She speaks in calm, throaty tones with a slight accent you canUt quite place. Your gaze falls upon her chest from time to time as you sense beneath her small breasts the aura of a passionate heart of infinite capacity. Her wise, blitheful spirit emanates from her being like the glow of sweat beading at her brow--you want to lick it off her, hoping her energy is something you can acquire from the act. When she speaks to you, you sense a mind that knows how to think about ideas and her relationship with them in a world that for the most part doesn't care to know about anything other than the bottom line. In her gestures you see unpretentious grace and refinement, expressing both a youthful joy and a wise sadness about the successes and failures she's seen in her life. Her long fingers go to her bare legs most often as if she's only just discovering the touch of her flesh, or relishing the sensation of beautiful skin. You want to caress her as well: it builds inside of you quickly with great intensity to the point of maddening anguish at that which lies just beyond your reach. And you wonder to yourself how you can win her heart and whether you're worthy...