Krissy was a modern mom, tan to bronze, long-haired brunette, with big breasts, eh, a woman in a blue dress, flexible arms, rounded legs, leg over leg, thigh over thigh, a modern woman with a killer look. Sharp cheekbones. Adorable curves. A woman who sits on a beach somewhere in the tropics in the middle of summer and hangs out in the room of an expensive hotel in the second half of summer. And I saw another corner of another tattoo on the fly, but my leg moved, slid down, and the clerk sat for a moment in the position of an obedient schoolboy, that is, both feet side by side and at an exemplary angle, hands on the table and head on neck. And then she slowly spread her legs apart, stretched them under the table, and lovingly circled her feet around. Her hand slid down and her open palm wrapped around the inside of her thigh. I stared at it. I saw in my peripheral vision that the clerk was staring at me, but I kept looking at her feet, nothing else existed for me, nothing else was just her feet under the table.
