Lion Head Mesa saucy

He leers; she had heard tale of that lecherous gaze that men often give, piggish and cold-blooded. And yet, not once had she felt it before — never had she watched as it traversed her taut figure, still with remnants of youth; pure. Virginal.
Oh, how delightful, eyelashes aflutter, she leans forward on the balls of her feet, arching a bony spine. I wonder who that lucky gal could be?
Warmth prickles at the tips of her ears. Flirting was an art she had yet to master — she silently prays that she pleases him anyways.