Elegant. Beautiful. Prim. Lovely.
Annjanette really couldn’t figure out how to describe the girl. That was strange given that images of the woman hadn’t left her mind since she saw her on the beach. She hadn’t really paid attention to her at first because there were plenty of people on the beach. In fact, it wasn’t until the damned party with the kids on spring break got loud that she really even noticed the girl. The party was frustrating enough from the music and the irritation but on the whole not as bad as it could have been. It was late in the season, and most of the kids were back at school. There were only about a fifth of the students that might otherwise have been on the beach. Nonetheless, they were loud and Annjanette made a mental note to travel to Florida a few weeks later next time. It was after a particularly irritating announcement about a nicest ass contest that the girl spoke.
The comment elicited a frustrated sigh from Annjanette, one she didn’t even know she’d made audibly, and the girl turned and said, “And the worst part is you can’t really have a nice ass until you’re out of college anyway, right? You haven’t lived enough to earn the title.” Her voice was beautiful and Annjanette saw her—really saw her as a person and not an amorphous beachgoer—for the first time. She was striking, really. She wore a very attractive black bikini, and it was attractive primarily because it was sexy but not slutty like the floss the college kids wore. Annjanette put the girl in her early thirties, and loved the way she’d pulled back jet black hair into a ponytail. She’d come from the water because her hair was wet, and the woman’s striking blue eyes were a wonderful contrast. She had the eyes Annjanette would expect on a blonde, cornflower blue to go with corn silk hair. The eyes were beautiful but they didn’t catch Annjanette’s attention nearly as much as the woman’s lips. They were red.
No. That wasn’t a good enough description. There were plenty of things that one might describe as red but the color on her lips wasn’t just an apple or a pinprick drop of blood or the plumage of a cardinal or anything like it. The red was pomegranate seeds bursting with moisture. It was a raspberry so dark it looked black until a bite made it burst and rich red flowed over your chin. It was a grape so full of sweetness and life that it almost tasted like life itself when the skin broke and it flooded your mouth. That red was the red of a river of wine so precious that monks hid casks of it in cellars and took vows to protect it from outsiders. Her lips were red, and Annjanette was immediately struck by them.