When most women walk briskly in heels there’s a sort of rhythmic staccato that clicks and clacks along. Morgana was not most women. Each purposeful step sounded closer to the crack of a large bore rifle than the clicking of stiletto’s on linoleum. Maybe it was her size? She was certainly formidable, standing at an Amazonian 6’1” without heels and weighing in the vicinity of 250lbs. With her black hair cascading about her shoulders, her smokey eye makeup, her black lipstick, her overflowing corset that showed off a generous amount of cleavage, and her wide rolling hips all bedecked in shades of black, she was certainly a dominating figure.
But it was her size or goth esthetic attire…it was what one could only describe as raw primal determination.
That’s what the 6’2” and 165lb 35 year old Johnathan, John to his friends, saw first. The blazing intensity behind the…yes purple irised eyes, contacts surely. Then he saw the rest of her and he quite forgot what he was saying to his friend only moments before as the formidable and voluptuous woman locked eyes with him, smiled like a tiger eyeing its prey, and walked over to him.
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