The life of the beauty of the curve begins with a new urban story.

After lunch, the lady colleague put the file to his desk with his fingertips slightly paused, her skirt snuggled on the side of his leg, and she had a cold, completely different temperature in her eyes, and at night she had her heels on her heels and low breast dress on his door, and her lips were soaring that she didn't want to work late tonight, and he hesitated to let her in the living room, and she opened only a light, and she was scrambling her ear on the couch, and her voice was so low, she asked if he wanted to help her pull the chain, and she was getting closer, and her finger was falling on her shirt, breathing with alcohol on his neck, and his throat was rolling, but he didn't push away.