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olly kicked her foot a little, now bobbing it up and down, her legs crossed, not because she was shy about her fully nude form—just the opposite, she was most comfortable when she was nude. Dolly's body was like something Michelangelo might havecarved if he'd ever seen a 21st century fitness model/beauty pageant-type nymphomaniac, the feminine physique raised to a new level of fit sexuality. No, she was just bobbing her foot, legs crossed, because she was so relaxedwith Frank. He was mid-50's, married, successful, and a good family man at home, but he had needs that, well, only Dolly could satisfy. Frank understood how their relationship worked, so he was a low-stress date for Dolly. He was not going to get attached or kid himself into thinking Dolly wanted him to be her next husband. He'd been nervous as shit the first time he met Dolly. He'd met other escorts, but nobody ever approached Dolly's combination of wit, class, sexual desire, unabashed lust, body, looks, and stamina. Basically, about a full page of entries on his bucket list got checked off when he met Dolly. She sipped more champagne. "You sure you have to get dressed and go? I've still got some time, Frankie."
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