Tight Jeans
Her voice came from somewhere behind me. I was standing in the aisle next
to Women’s Wear. The lady posing in front of the full-length mirror at
the entrance to the dressing rooms seemed to be talking to herself. Other
than me, there was no one in her immediate vicinity. And yes, the jeans
were a bit tight on her. In fact, she was literally bursting out of
them. Bottom-heavy, she was, and her ass would look big under *any*
circumstances, tight jeans or no. It didn’t just *look* big, it *was*
big — big and lush and pear-shaped. That ass, that huge beautiful ass,
was the fulfillment of every erotic fantasy I had ever had.
She was looking back over her shoulder. She was looking *straight at me*.
She had caught me staring! My guts turned to jelly and I started to turn
away. Where was the nearest exit? But . . . was that a hint of a smile
on her face? A mysterious smile. Yes. Making fun of me? Or . . .