We'd agreed to meet at a neutral location, a hipster coffee house downtown.
When I come in, I see her standing in line. It's appropriate that the first time I saw her was from the back.
Her bottom has been at the center of our relationship ever since.
Her legs, muscular and bare; her dark hair tied back; her bottom clasped lovingly by the denim of her shorts. Not a big bottom, by any means, just prominent. She looks like the kind of girl Robert Crumb would like to have give him a piggy-back ride.
I stand next to her in line. She recognizes me immediately but we play it as if we were the oldest and dearest of friends. I give her my order, and grab us a table. I watch her as she waits for the barista to make our drinks.
She's as pretty from the front as from the back. She sports a black t-shirt with Hello Kitty standing between her breasts. She wears no make-up at my request. Her strong features look even better than in the picture she'd sent. In the picture, she stood with her hands on her hips, looking over her shoulder at the camera. Her smile held an edge of defiance. "Bring it on," she seemed to be saying. As soon as I saw her I knew I wanted to break her.
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