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Liz Rouelle would celebrate her forty-second birthday in just a couple of months, but right now she felt ageless in a young sort of way. She always felt that way after a good hot driving shower that pinkened her easily pinkened skin and then, lifting her thick auburn hair out of her shower cap, letting it flow over her delicately arching neck, looking at her still youthful-looking reflection in the full length bathroom mirror. She was young. After all, this was the twentieth century when a woman didn’t hit old age until… huh… Mae West hadn’t hit it yet in her eighties!
Her skin was still taut over her high cheekbones, and she couldn’t help but be proud of the dazzling green eyes gazing back at her, slanted slightly, thick lashed, blinking back at her with a growing amusement. It was exhilarating to be beautiful. She shuddered to think that she would ever be not beautiful! After drying her body thoroughly with a plush light blue towel, she examined it carefully. Her fully curving voluptuous body was every bit as firm and taut as a teenager’s, she realized. Her tits were high-set and round, and her slender girlish waist expanded enticingly to round luscious hips. She had a flat smooth stomach and full-swelling thighs. Her calves were breathtakingly curved and tapered down to small well-formed ankles. And all over her skin was a slight sprinkling of freckles for a touch of sauciness, which actually embarrassed her. She was a very serious and meticulous woman and did not indulge in games. It was not that she couldn’t have a good time or laugh at a joke, but there was a time and place for such things… after the more serious aspects of life were taken care of. She attributed her lasting beauty to a lifetime of moderation…
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.