Her hair was a mixture of reds that resembled the more vibrant trees in autumn just before they lose their leaves. Her hair was cut like something straight from a comic book. Long on the sides and shorter in the back. The longest strands covered her ears and fell to her shoulders. Her nose was rounded to match the pudge of her cheeks. Her face wasn’t fat but childlike and enticing. One that you wanted to kiss but only at the right times for the right amount of time. Not too long as to overstay your welcome, but not to short that she might feel unwanted. Her body spoke a different language than her face. In her face alone she was cute, but in her body she was a beautiful young woman. Her curves were steep but smooth and demanded to be touched. But the clothes that wrapped up her skin kept those curves a secret. Her jeans clung to her legs tighter than an infant to it’s mother teet. The only mystery they left was what the tone of her flesh appeared to be under her painted on jeans. Her shirts the same; tight enough to see it all but still desire so much more. But the jackets she wore hid what was to be seen. She was a hormonal boys worst nightmare and wildest dream. Young or old, we all swooned for her. Old men would push up on their canes, straighten their posture, and puff out their chess hoping to get just a glance out of her. The younger boys would slouch more, sigh louder, and flip their hair aggressively hoping for the same. A gentle breeze through her hair to get a wif of her perfume, a glance to see those dazzling eyes, or a smile to stop your heart momentarily. These are the thrills boys seek when in the presence of That Girl.