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At the tender age of 22, life still felt like a budding flower waiting to unfurl its petals. Each experience felt new, vibrant, and electric. This particular evening was no different.
It was mid-spring, with the fragrance of blooming jasmine wafting through the air. I had chosen my outfit with care that day — a short, flirty skirt in a shade of rich burgundy that swished around my mid-thighs. The button-down blouse was pristine white, with delicate lace trims at the cuffs and collar. Its fabric was soft, slightly translucent, hinting at the contours of my body beneath, particularly the lacy bra that held my breasts. Black ballet flats adorned my feet, and a silver locket, gifted on my 18th birthday, lay around my neck.
My partner, whom I’d been seeing for a few months, suggested a walk. Our destination was a local park, its trees mature and tall, their canopies merging, creating dappled patterns on the ground below from the setting sun.
We began our stroll, with casual talk about our day, laughter echoing, fingers brushing. As the world grew dimmer, the energy between us shifted. It became more intimate, charged with anticipation. By the time we reached a secluded bench overlooking a still pond, twilight had settled, giving the scene an ethereal glow.
