
Colonel Randy Newhouse and Suzie met at her father's house. He was kind, he seemed sensitive, he read poetry, he was attentive…
She got up from the bed to take off her bikini, since the elastic was beginning to cut into her flesh. She caught sight of her reflection he the closet mirror and studied herself with detached interest, but without much pleasure. Her satin-skinned flesh tinted a golden tan except for the tiny stripes of her bikini. She gazed at her taut, high breasts, they curved up to firm deep pink nipples. She moved her eyes to the black silky pussy hairs and opening her legs, she touched gently the softly molded vaginal lips. She could see the tiny tip of her clitoris peeking from the crested valley of her vagina in almost childlike shyness. She looked at her face, her high cheek bones, her mysterious eyes as Russ had called them, she had the classic almond shaped eyes of the orient that could express many moods. And then, as if suddenly ashamed by her immodest voyeurism, she threw on her pink satin robe and closed the closet door.
"I've got a good body," she thought, "but it hasn't brought me anything but pain." And once again she thought of the women in her father's village with the sagging breasts and wrinkled thighs. God! If only she were an old toothless hag, or been born ugly, then she wouldn't have been cursed by men constantly lusting to strip her naked and fuck her. All her life men had fondled her and when she finally married Brad, his clumsiness and brutality had left her cold.
