She is walking around sans pants, as she is wont to do, as cute as she can be, and I'm enjoying the view, the sweet, nonchalant way that she is flaunting her charms for me, thinking to myself that this, this feeling of silly fun and playful sexiness, is really what being grownup is all about, and what I'd always hoped for when I dreamed about being an adult: that we can walk around without pants and nobody can tell us otherwise. I love the cute curve of her bum (which she always insists is too flat) and her narrow hips and the way she sort of prances like a deer when she runs around without shoes.
I am almost giddy with love when she says, "Well, I need to put pants on," and I say, thinking I am still being sexy and fun, "Well, as much as I like looking at your pussy and your butt, you don't want them to get cold."
Her face freezes, then she tries to smile, but I instantly know that I have stepped over some line, my crudity making things less fun, and my heart sinks as I stammer out, "Oh, you don't really like those words, do you?"
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