I turned around, and found myself, rarely for someone of my small height, even in my two inch heels, looking straight into the eyes of Natasha.
Natasha was petite, she was blonde, and she was smiling and offering me her hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Natasha,” she said, her eyes fixed on me all the time.
“I’m Rupa. Pleased to meet you,” I replied, taking her delicate hand in my own and trying to appear confident as I shook it.
“Oooh, I love your English accent,” Natasha said with a smile. I had heard that plenty of times tonight already and I wondered if Americans were taught to say that at school.
“I love your, er,” I said as I looked her up and down, desperate to pay a compliment in return. “I love your tattoos.” Natasha had a magnificent set of multi-coloured tattoos: on her arms, on her shoulders, on the tops of her feet and her ankles, spiralling up her leg and thigh and across her stomach. Oh yes, now I remember the important part of describing Natasha, and why I was surprised, or even shocked, at meeting her. I’m able to describe Natasha’s tattoos in such detail because Natasha was entirely naked.
“Why, thank you,” she said, looking down at herself. I joined her in staring at the young naked body in front of me and wondered whether I was dreaming. “I’ve been collecting them for years. I started with a few small ones like this.” She twisted around and pointed to an owl tattooed on her shoulder before turning back quickly as I tried to tear my eyes away from the way her tiny breasts wobbled as she spun around. “And this was next,” she said as she twisted her leg outwards and pointed to a small butterfly at the top of her inner thigh, although all I could think of was that I was staring directly at her immaculately shaved vagina. “That one was for an old boyfriend, who wanted something that only he would see.” She shrugged and her breasts wobbled again. “I guess everyone gets to see it now.”