By contrast, and much shorter, was Miss Gilda, as we called her. My wife was very tall, towering over me at about six feet, like some amazonian caught...as a prize in war. But Miss Gilda was short, and stocky. Her breasts were large, proportionate to her frame, and her hair was a tangled mess of orange-red that dangled down to her buttocks. Staring at it, as I perhaps too often did, reminded me of an old print I once saw, by a surrealist. It was supposed to be a copy of Vermeer’s Lacemaker, but. ‘Let’s see what the next hand holds’And sure enough, Taylor’s 2 of diamonds was far in away the lowest in the deck. She stood up shyly. ‘I really don’t want to take my shirt off. I guess my pants wouldn’t be too bad’ and she unbuttoned her pants and slid them over her hips. She had on a pair of red high cut panties. I looked over and there were little bits of hair sticking out from the top of her underwear and down beneath there was the slightest damn spot noticeable in her crotch. ‘Hope you. More

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