She races off, mortified at her public lapse. Heading to a nearby store for refuge and a change of clothes. Smiling and shaking your head, you take a deep refreshing gulp of your smoothie. Checking your phone, you confirm you caught it all. You'll repost it to the forums.
Tilting your head like a confused labrador, you hear what sounds like girly singing. A childish song, that gets louder, as the singer gets closer. The song about unicorns and puppies in saccharin sweet, and you find yourself glancing in that direction.
It's no little girl who's singing to herself. The clear effects of the bimbo strain are clear in her mannerisms, and innocence. She dresses as if she's unaware the effect it'll have on any man with a pulse. Or simply just to please herself. She certainly has the body to flaunt, and you wish you had her confidence... if you were.... You derail that train of thought, as she passes by.
She's wearing a simple dress. The bimbo rarely choose more complicated outfits.
It's a something just to slip on, and off just as easily. She smiles brightly, and her eyes flash, vacant but happy. Her hips and bust dancing along, as she sways and sashays along to her own delightful tune.
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