My hair was a plain mousy brown. Her breasts were bigger than mine, about a size C-cup I would guess, where mine were closer to an A-cup. Weight wise,...she was slender. Hell, she wasn't slender she was skinny, almost painfully skinny. According to the doctor I'm about fifteen pounds over-weight for my height and bone structure, a bit on the chunky side of the Barbie figure all the guys adore. She would have to gain fifteen or twenty pounds to reach that Barbie figure."Hey," I said. There was. The white walls were tastefully adorned with art, mostly postmodern – she particularly loved the Jackson Pollock piece on the wall adjacent to the massive flat-screen TV and the Al Held near the dining table. The dining table, oh, how her eyes almost fell out of their sockets when she first saw it. Philippe Starck, 2010 collection, a modern marvel of lucite and steel. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, knowing that she could never afford any of these things, not even in her wildest. More

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