warnings: mentioned nudity and i guess negetive self-image?
Today was just one of those days. One of those days for being lazy. One of those days for laying in bed naked, and watching cheesy movies.
What could make these days even better? A beautiful Italian woman lying next to you, of course.
What was even better, is that the said Italian was very sleepy, therefore less stubborn, and more likely to give random kisses. Also, sleepy people were cute. Especially her.
Her normally straight brown hair curly and frizzed in its natural state, her golden eyes half lidded, and her body relaxed.
Our legs were intertwined, as were our fingers. The hand that wasn't holding her hand held her waist, and her free hand rested on my thigh.
She sleepily looked up at me, giving me a soft smile.
Most people thought she never smiled; they were wrong. She smiles all the time. But only for me, as she feels her smile makes her look vulnerable in front of anyone else. I, however, believe it makes her look that much more beautiful. But, it makes me feel special when she smiles for me, and me only. The fact that she saves these precious treasures for only me to see is better than any gift I could be given.
Her hand slid up my thigh, finding a new resting place on my hip.
Her hands were beautiful too, slender, and always painted red, white, or French manicured.
She pressed her lips against my neck and breathed softly, and a small smile threatened to grace my lips.
Her mouth was beautiful, as well. Light pink lips that were never chapped, and looked great in red.
I moved my hand down her waist to her hip, and down to her thigh.
Her skin was soft, and youthful looking. Angelic, even. It had this glow to it, and it was perfect. She disagreed, though. She often stood in front of the mirror, her face contorting in disgust as she pointed out all her stretch marks and scars, oddly placed freckles and other quote on quote 'imperfections'. She was a bit hypocritical, as she would kiss ever small imperfection on my body and whisper 'perfect' against it.
But when I think about it, she's always hypocritical. She thinks everything about her is ugly, while she thinks everything about me is beautiful.
She finally presses a kiss against my lip and mumbles, "beautiful."
"perfect," I reply.