Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

Priya Didi


She wasn’t dramatic. She wasn’t dressed up. And yet, something about her presence quieted the room.

She was tall and slim, like a stroke of fine charcoal across handmade paper, elegant, but with curves where curves belonged.

The kind of proportions that weren’t loud, but memorable, like a temple bell heard in passing.

Her waist was slender, graceful, not drawn in, not held back, but naturally tapering like the middle of a well played tanpura.

Hips soft and slim, understated, a quiet fullness that suggested femininity in its calmest form.

Her bust, elegantly shaped.  Every inch of her felt measured not in inches, but in intent.  Full and perfect breasts are her asset.

She was very fair like the inner glow of someone who wakes with the sun and sleeps in jasmine air.

Her skin held the tone of early morning milk, untouched, unblemished, almost unreal in city light.

Her hair, long, thick and black like ink yet to be written with, often loose, sometimes knotted lazily over one shoulder.

It moved when she did not too fast, not too still, like something alive, with its own mind.

Eyes? Wide, brown, and wet, not in sadness, but in depth. There was something eternal about the way she looked at you.

Her lips were neither full nor thin, just right, and held in that halfway shape poets die for: not smiling, not cold, just quiet… with a secret it never fully gave away.

Even her silences were seductive.

Even her footsteps felt like memories returning.





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