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“There’s a lot of curves left in the old girl yet!” Carrie Livingston murmured to herself in her husky voice. She was examining herself in the new smoked mirrors she’d had installed in her bedroom, and she liked what she saw. Even though she was no longer a young woman, her face and figure continued to belie this fact, giving back the image of a voluptuous woman in the prime of life.
Carrie was wearing a long diaphanous dressing gown of a silvery tone that set off her pale ash blonde hair to perfection. It also left little to be guessed at of the curvaceous shapes of her body, exposing the deep cleft of her full, milk-white breasts to view and snugly encompassing the girth of the two firmly raised mounds in shimmering material. As she turned around slowly in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, she noted with some satisfaction that the curves of her buttocks were still just as round and provocative as they had always been.
“I’m tall,” she said. “And that always helps!” She knew many women exactly her age who were short heavy-set old ladies by now.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.