If you were driving by how would you rate my curvy body?

You slow down without thinking, caught by the curves that refuse to let your eyes move on.

You take in the full shape of that body — the weight of it, the softness stacked against the firmness, the way every line pulls your attention lower and then back up again. You feel something shift in your chest and somewhere below it. You want to pull over.

You already know your rating before you finish looking. You'd give it everything you have just to get a second glance returned. You'd circle the block twice.