John Coe had spent the day sailing on Teardrop Lake and as he approached the jetty he saw a figure standing there.
The first thing he noticed was the sun on her red hair turning it to a blazing fire as it tumbled down onto the white flesh of her shoulders.
The next thing to catch his eye were the pastel shades of her meagre top which struggled to contain the vibrancy of her wondrous breasts.
His eyes then moved on to her naked midriff which tantalized with a glint of sun on an adornment in her navel.
The waistband of her skirt, falsely named as it actually sat more factually on her hips, while the white cotton below encased her rolling buttocks and strong thighs.
Gratifyingly, heaven sent a gust of summer breeze blowing off the lake lifting her skirt and allowing glimpses of her white thighs and pastel panties.
But as she walked along the jetty the sunlight behind her illuminated her form, more than hinting at the delights contained within the cotton of her skirt and his loins burned for her.
His thoughts about the girl with the flaming red hair had turned to a burning desire which he would soon quench in the coolness of the forest shade.
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