I was recently asked: “Describe your perfect woman.”
My perfect woman is extraordinary.
She is shy enough that she will blush when I whisper, “show them” in her ear, she is naughty enough that it will instantly make her legs tremble and pussy wet, and exhibitionist enough that she will spread her legs for all to see.
She is aware enough to realize when a man is flirting with her, cheeky enough that she will flirt back, but loyal enough to tell me afterwards, “I am yours, and only yours.”
She is independent enough to thrive in the world on her own, and submissive enough to crave the moments when I hold her, protect her, comfort her, and tell her she is my good girl.
She is strong enough to say no, to challenge me, to push me to be my best, and not settle for mediocrity; she will receive the same in return. She is compassionate, sympathetic and empathetic. She gives, and never expects. She is enthusiastic, her eyes still light up when I surprise her, even if it is only a tulip I picked from her garden as I walked up the drive.
She is soft-spoken when required, she’ll yell and cheer with me at a sporting event, even if it’s just on television, and she’ll make me blush when talking dirty in bed.
She is classy enough to look elegant, twirling on the dance floor in a dress and high heels, dirty enough to wear nothing underneath, and slutty enough to smile when I cum on her face after returning home from a night on the town.
She is articulate, intelligent, opinionated, stubborn and feisty. She has a constant thirst for education and learning. She loves life and is never satisfied with her experiences, on an insatiable quest for more.
She will travel with me: in a car, a train, an airplane, a bus or a boat. She is equally comfortable in a sleeping bag in a tent in a forest on a mountain by a river as she is in a four-poster bed in a suite of a European castle.
In short, she is a princess, she is demure, playful, perverse, sinful, opulent, wanton, impish, obedient, raunchy, wicked, posh, mischievous, exasperating, glorious, and inquisitive. She is my reason for living; my muse, my motivation and my aspiration.
That is my perfect woman.
You may notice, in my description there is not a single word of a physical description. No height, weight, measurements or colors of skin, hair, or eyes. The perfect woman, to me at least, isn’t restricted by any of these characteristics. I am far more interested in who she is than what she looks like.
I have yet to meet my perfect woman, are you her?