Story idea: Staying the weekend… with my friend’s wife

She was not very tall.

She was not wearing attire that could be described as “trendy”. She did not have her hair tied back in a ponytail.

She did not have eyelashes complimented by mascara. She did not have a face that glowed with foundation. She did not have lips that shimmered with gloss.

She did not have the slender frame of a ballet dancer.

She most certainly did not have the sleek sophistication of a supermodel.​

Her skin had the delightfully rich colour of her South Asian heritage – the colour of luscious chocolate. A warm, glowing hue.

She was dressed in a magenta saree. It was a long, flowing costume. Decorated with subtle fern leaf and floral patterns, it was unassuming in design, yet elegant in style.

It gave her an assuredly decorous appearance. And this was also a costume that positively celebrated her femininity - the saree was draped around her form with such intimacy that it lovingly and properly flattered her curves.

She had these wide, heavy-lidded eyes, which were kind and gentle, but also seemed to glow with a dark, tantalising mystique.

Fulsome, warm cheeks. There was a rustic sensuousness to her downturned mouth and the bee-stung fullness of her lips.

Her sharp chin was quirky, yet very cute, with very little awkwardness. It was an adorable imperfection.

There was boundless kindness in that sincere, pure smile of hers.

A graceful neck, with elegant collarbones.

Like a rolling waterfall, her richly lustrous tresses flowed down over her shoulders, down to her elbows.

She had an earthy, richly sensual beauty.

And if she had a face that was a little unconventional in attractiveness, she had a body that was absolutely astounding in exquisiteness.

Although she stood only five feet and seven inches in height, she was still blessed with a curvaceous figure.

She was well-proportioned – breathtakingly well-proportioned.

She had a gloriously proud bosom that sat high upon her chest.

Even the upper halves of her breasts had a majestic fullness, haughtily taking their place rather quickly after her collarbones.

There was hypnotic grace in the slow, yet lively, rising and falling of her bosom with her breathing.

Her waifish waist led down into her lovely wide hip, and then her callipygian posterior. Her arms, her thighs and her lower legs complemented her hourglass silhouette perfectly.

The drape of her saree subtly accentuated her curves, giving her a statuesque beauty, like a Khajuraho sculpture.

In all, she was a very red-blooded woman, very much in the spring of her youth."​