InsaneJournal

Summer in the city, as Regina Specter said so eloquently, means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage; and Erato was absolutely so much all about that. Summer girls in summer frocks, floral prints and sailor blues and pure whites, and sunshine yellows and pretty pinks, frills and flounces and sandals on bare feet, tiny tight shorts and beachy waves and oh yes, Erato loved Summer!

Today had been a lot of walking, enjoying the air. She’d ridden her bike to meet one of her authors, and the next sex scene she got from that one was going to be a hot, sweaty tangle in the sheets, she could see it coming a mile off. Then she’d gone to an old second-hand bookshop and wandered between the aisles, fingers trailing lovingly down dusty spines. There had been a couple there, and she’d watched them through a shelf, as one of them read from a book of erotic poetry, the sound deadened from the outside by the still air. It didn’t take much to encourage a hand to slip under a skirt, and a couple to try something risky and new. Erato held her breath and smiled, her back to the shelf, almost feeling the girl’s climax inside herself with a flutter of that old inspiration.

But Summer in the city was so lonely, lonely, lonely too. She went home and showered and changed, but she had nobody to dress up for. Her sisters were occupied, and Apollo was unavailable, and the handsome minotaur not answering his phone. So she went to Diogenes so she could at least look at those thick muscles, even if she couldn’t touch them today.

She was feeling a breezy vibe today, in a cream dress, almost Grecian in appearance with the asymmetrical skirt draped over her upper thighs, and the ruched fabric around her waist and over her bra-less breasts. Far too short probably, but with the roman sandals and her hair half up in waves it was a Look, and she thought a lot of people would be here for it. She sat on the bar stool furthest from the door, tucked around the corner, and smiled as she saw Much was working today. At least she had a friend here! She could share her stories and he could share his, and they’d have a good old time.

“Much honeeey! Make a girl a margarita, I am absolutely parched!”