She’ll be there. She always is. Poker night at Kirk’s. As I approach my friend’s home by the lake, anticipation mounts. My mouth is dry, my dick is not. It is wet and throbbing, aching for her touch, her kiss. I see her in my dreams.

She waits, smiling that secretive smile, hypnotic, grey eyes watching me knowingly. Her naked body inviting me to caress and plunder. Voluptuous breasts and irresistible nipples, smooth pussy, long legs open, revealing only a tantalising glimpse of untold pleasure.

Closer. Closer. She casts her spell.

The Scottish Thistle. The Calendar Girl.