Amanda's "it" factor

It's a fine fine line between woman that wars are fought over and just plain pretty girls. So much goes into the finer appreciation of a curve here, a proportion there, shapes and patterns in human anatomy are so similar all the way across the board, but yet, so so very different.

I have known heavier women that even have "it". "It" being that undefinable quality. "It" being ultimately sexier and more exciting than trimmer younger bimbo models. The way even shall we say, the heavier girl with "it" has those expanded buttocks that curve around to the thigh like some 18th century painter's impression, or that perfect patch of skin between a cute anus and shapely vaginal lips. This is as far as I can go to describe it, I'm just not that good with words.

Amanda was on the correct side of that fine fine line. Soft golden brown skin, naturally tanned in a way that women from the midwest just never seem to do. Hips and bust hourglassing her silhouette just perfectly. Subtle but not too rigid abdominal muscle line snaking down her front bisected by a vertically shaped navel pointing to a pubic mound pronounced, somehow puckering a soft set of folds that were completely shaven smooth. Her hips were flanked by pelvic bones obstinately screaming "I'm in great shape and you wish you were", but of course, I saw that navel and waistline in the parking lot days before.

Sometimes sociologists go way over my head. I mean, I understand social dynamics to a point. There's obviously a root reason why we do anything at any time, appreciate anything at any time, want anything at any time. I have been told it's to the affect of something based on some pavlovian lesson learned through ritual head banging. Take for example Amanda, she's a stunning woman, she's obviously well looked after and even though I dump on her car, it's not cheap by any stretch of the imagination, and neither is she.

What was her deal, under the fluff and whimsy?

I could get into her head and try and work out what her motives are, oh yes, I think in motives. Motives are how I transform myself and stop being me, which is another sore spot. Get into her head and she's probably not terrified of being that sorry little person I constantly run from, no matter what her past, I'm not sure it would catch up with her because it's probably not all that bad.

I enjoyed her conversation immensely after I'd hammered through the resistance, or at least convinced myself that I was eventually going to fuck her. I'm in competition with my own ego in some sense, hiding the tenseness behind some Brandoesque improv, constantly balancing and giving her complete day and night repulsion attraction interaction until she's boiled right over and clearly unable to respond to her inhibitions. I'm a good night out, fuck me or not. You'll have a good time and eventually just come to terms with the fact that you know I am a dog, but you'll also know that I have a good heart, and make up for what parts of your intelligent banter I don't understand with humor and the image of that guy in high school that never paid you any attention because you weren't cool enough.

The consumation of a balanced reciprocal courting evening of good food, fast driving, you know, the getting to know you, could not have gone down better if it were planned. All the clitoris rubbing and neck biting , the finger insertion in and around her little white satin panties, her tying up my balls with said panties and deepthroating me, all the way down to the way that glorious pubic mound moved with every inward thrust, was not forced. I didn't take advantage of Amanda, and she didn't take advantage of me.

I made no promises and she didn't expect anything. That's the way it should be. Fucking is easy, relationships are hard. You can tell if a woman has "it" immediately, telling if she's the one for you is nearly impossible, even years into knowing each other. Right now, I like searching for "it".