brockmans

Dylan cheered along with her friends, jumping up and down to the beat of the music as the light grew dimmer and dimmer at the music festival. Though it was a cool evening the press of hot, sticky bodies made Dylan feel warm and she was absently grateful that she'd worn such a revealing outfit. The tall, 5'9" blonde had her hair up in a messy bun; she had green eyes and light skin with a smattering of freckles across her nose and shoulders, which were bared by her skimpy crop top. The young blonde had an attractive hourglass figure with large breasts that were barely contained within her white crop top, similar in size to a bikini with two lacy triangles cradling her huge breasts and a deep v neckline, held up by thin white spaghetti straps on either side and with a small strip of lacy fabric at the bottom of the shirt, hugging the topmost portion of her ribs. Lower down, Dylan's curved hips were hugged by a pair of low-rise light wash jeans that made her backside look somehow

It was getting late, but Kari insisted that we stop by the supermarket on our way home from the dinner party. Kari was my wife – a 38-year-old blonde clad in a tightly-fitted white dress which ended rather abruptly down her thighs. A few minutes later, we were standing in the checkout line behind a young girl who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties at most. Also a blonde. She was shorter and skinnier than Kari. She wore a pair of cutoff shorts and a crop top that ended a few inches shy of her waist. A tattoo adorned her lower back. “Trashy,” mouthed Kari to me. I smiled and rolled my eyes in response. We lived in an affluent neighborhood and Kari thought of herself as a classy woman. She often trash-talked girls who she considered to be “less” than her. I never said it out loud, but I wondered if she ever looked in the mirror and doubted herself. The thought would have never occurred to me 18 years earlier, but Kari’s cheerleader days were long behind her now. Sure