breasts in creation. Full they were, and round and firm, and by any criterion, utterly fantastic. She was powdering them with a flUffy pink puff, and as the shade flew up she paused in mid-puff. * * *
"She was lovely, but there was something wrong in the way she looked, in the lilt of her head, in the raven shimmer of her lustrous black hair, in the feline greeness of her eyes. And then I knew what it was—she was on her feet.
"Just as Goya's nudes would look ludricous standing up, and Botticelli's undraped beauties would look foolish except lying down, so this chick was made for the horizontal; and while she was great standing upright, I knew that on her back she'd be sensational. * * *
"We reacted to one another as if we were oppositely magnetized. My mouth was on her lips—moist, full, red lips. I've a thing for lower lips. The chick can be a dog, as long as the lower lip is a full, soft one.
"She intertwined herself about me, nudely white from cascading raven hair to scarlet toenails, and the sensation was not of this world. I could feel the sleek perfection of her body through my clothes, her ruby-tipped breasts pushing against me impatiently. I felt her soft arms around me, under my arm-pits, as she hooked her exquisitely manicured hands at my shoulders, thrusting her dancer's belly toward me.
"And I suddenly realized that we were standing by the open window. Not only could we be seen in sharp relief against the white apartment walls by everyone in neighboring apartments, but my colleague, a fellow student, might come looking for me any moment. I pried loose, and the chick let go with low moans that set my hair climbing. I'd been right. She was the type that digs. What might have been foolish prematurity had turned out to be telling perception. She was a chick who thought 'horizontally.' * * *
" * * * What it was with her, I couldn't quite pin down, but she never made love in the dark, and always
