Amanda took stock of her equipment. While her essential gear had been secreted into the estate by an agent who had already infiltrated the grounds months earlier, she still had a few essentials on her person. She looked at her small red handbag and opened it. Inside there was her earpiece communicator, a small bottle of mace, three small vials of tear gas, three vials of smoke screen, a palm-sized taser, and of course lipstick, eye shadow, blush and a small spray of perfume. Placing the bag down on the car floor in front of her, she decided to continue her ‘inventory’. Her eyes admired the glossy red patent leather stiletto heels she wore. They had been quite a find, and she wore them with pride. As she glanced up from her bare ankle to the start of her smooth shin, she caught the hem of her red satin dress she wore. As her gaze climbed upward, she smiled giddily, as the dress hugged the curve of her thighs and hips perfectly. The long slit along the right side of her lower body began. We exchanged one letter a month, regular as clockwork. In our letters we discussed everything under the sun, but somehow it always got back to sensuality. She told me a bit about her past life as a stripper and nude model, and I wrote her back telling her about my interest in art history and anything else that felt oh so sensual to me. We both shared a passion for photography, and as a semi-professional she always was interested in my views. Black and white ones with the model wearing leather or black were my own favourite ones. Today I've moved on and know that it was wrong of me not to tell her my real age straight away. After the first five letters I just couldn't any more because I was head over heels in love with her and I was indeed deadly afraid of her reaction. Yes, we talked about life and all its riches in our letters, although I now believe that she was indeed lusting more after the young woman behind the letters than falling in love with me. The whole situation.
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