Winnie is impossible to ignore, even sweaty from a day of work and dressed in baggy, athletic clothes. It’s the woman herself who holds all the allure, not whatever she’s wearing. My gaze falls from her messy ponytail to her full lips down to her lean but defined shoulders and arms. Winnie may be petite, but she looks like she knows her way around a weight bench. Her pale skin and lithe muscles only emphasize the dark tattoos swirling down her arms. They’re something like vines or ribbons, curving and twisting over her skin with what look like words and other objects woven in. I want to trace
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