Tartiness wins again

Damn me, I still can't get away from calves.

There's this woman at work -- we'll call her Jen. I've known her for probably ten years, and I am still impressed with her calves. She has amazingly shapely, well-balanced legs and elegant ankles and doesn't mind showing them off. One time a few months ago, she was wearing some particularly tarty shoes -- ankle straps, cutaway sides, black, very high, very sexy, and sheer black stockings with seams on the back. I asked her what she was all dolled up for.

"I have an interview for a job in {some other part of the organization}," she said. "The guy doing the interview has a kind of... shoe thing... like a shoe fetish or something. So..."

She got the job.

But Jen's calves are that special sort, where I don't want to just look, I want to touch. Touch a lot. Run my hands up and down, feel the warmth behind her knees, nibble on the back of her thighs, let her wrap legs around my head. THAT kind of touch. I am just a fool for that. Oh, well.

It's getting damn cold here. Nothing compared to the real North, but cold enough. Things are freezing solid outside. Orlando is only 19 days away.