You're perfect-pretty, like a picture, pixie face, pouting. Wearing soft colours, soft cloth, little skirts that flirt with showing too much (never on purpose, no of course not, you're no tease). You're innocent, wide-green eyes, never did a thing wrong in your life. Who me? Couldn't be! You're dainty, doll-like, and if you dress like this they might see that, so you don't, of course you don't, you're a saint, you don't dance like that, move like that, fuck like that. You flip blonde hair, smooth, shining, silky. You're tender. You're sweet. You wear cherry lipgloss; it's the perfect disguise.

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November 26, 2004