That nasty small girl, teenage miss Wong, does denying me my rightful pleasures as a speculating reader faced with a potent mystery presented by her own written textey tempting! She does not appreciate the questing querulous interest I am showing in her laced accoutrements as she has mentioned, most particularly her nether garments and whetther they either fit or do not suit the frail teenage body that she advertises. It is appalling!
She does not treasure my own esthetic sensitivity and profund concern for whether she looks appropriate in deshabilee or somewhat conceivably otherwise! Though I could not imagine.
Nay, she rants and spoofs in my direction, with many insults and name-calling, and apportions to me all manner of nasty things.
I am foresaken and bereft! I sputter!
Ill-mannered teenager! Have respect at least for my reems of vast encompassing experience and superiority of years! I more than anyone y9ou know could tell you precisely how good you might look wearing mere low-cuts, high-rises, or lace-edgeds. Tight panels, supports, or revealing.
See, see how she taunts me!
The bitch she is!
Horrid little thing! Do not disjectify my concern. I incline aesthetically towards you. And merely wish to ascertain for the benefits of all, if you look good in your small garments, or perhaps unsuitable or inappropriate. I am not a pervert. I am warm hearted.
And still she will not tell me if it cups, or how low it cuts. Curves and creases, and silk expanse of tender skins.
Good grieves, little miss Candy-poo, I am aware that you are several months before any age of dissulote behaviours, and I realize full well that you are utmost hesitant of even getting close to primsore path. Your recalcitrance and justifiable shyness are well understood indeed. Hesitate!
I would not mislead you into a life of exciting bad behaviours, least not while college and a fruitful private life are in your nearby prospect. Otherwise yes. I have far too much evaluance for the weaker sex, no matter how lusciously tasty they may present themselves. I have restraint, and can control myself graciously. Trust me, my little oily laddoo! Dammit!
Lacy panels? But mere semi-opaque?
Are you eighteen yet?