Tara never thought of her breasts as if they weren't completely real, even though recently they contained something that was definitely not a usual constituent of female breasts, real or fake. Or better stated, their perfection was assisted by a little artificial intervention. They were perfect specimens, although their perfection made it clear they were fake. Tara ’ s other primary attractions protruded proudly above her flat abdomen: her perfectly round D cup breasts affected men like an icy beer offered in an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. Running and dancing were part of Tara's daily schedule, and for a lady whose life was organized around showing off her body, keeping herself in shape was essential. Her thighs were luscious and her bottom was round and firm. Yet despite being so slim, her curves were more than ample. Some churchy, old fashioned mummies might have called her morbidly skinny, but Tara knew very well that her body was close to the ideal of the day. Her slender, long legs were one of her best features and always grabbed attention. She was the perfect example of what it meant to be 'leggy'. Tara was tall, a real model type at almost one point eight meters, and weighing only fifty-five kilos, her body was svelte, curvaceous and virtually flawless. It was hard to estimate her real age when professionally applied make-up enhanced her perfect face.
She could easily play with her appearance, pretending to be any age from fifteen to thirty. At the age of twenty-one Tara was a stunningly beautiful woman. She knew her fate was to live with the lascivious looks of men and to be the target of hatred mixed with envy by women. She had become accustomed to the continual attention of people around her. The best technique was to get in the front line to deflect suspicion at least so she was told by Redneck Joe, the planner of her mission.įor Tara it was impossible to remain unnoticed, and she knew that very well.
It was not for her of course: she needed to declare the expensive gold necklace and the brand new laptop that were her "gifts", mementos of a passionate date. She really hated the strict look on customs officers' faces when they watched the crowd passing through the green channel. Even if her story was believable - a rich boyfriend in Rio de Janeiro who likes to have his trophy girlfriend visit once a month - Tara was concerned about what awaited her. Tara worried that a lady like herself, flying twice to South America in such a short period of time, would grab the attention of US customs officers. This was not her first flight - she had made an earlier roundtrip to Brazil just a month ago - but this second one proved to be worse than the first. The three glasses of Johnnie Walker also helped her to ease her worries, but as time got closer, the unrest in her soul became less and less bearable. During the rest of the long flight she could divert her thoughts by watching some silly movies about vampires and pajama-wearing superheroes.
She was excited, and with every minute the landing got closer, Tara felt her heartbeat quicken.
She had the privilege to travel on business class so the eight hour flight was really comfortable, but unfortunately not too relaxing. The girl watched in silence as her plane descended over Miami and approached the airstrip.