Day after day. Part 34

Thirty-five days. Skirt (Otabek/Jura)

Jule was uncomfortable. She was complaining and crumbling, awkwardly twitching. She was never as ashamed on the ice as she was standing in front of a mirror. Although, it must be said that the young girl in a tight tights, often with her back or collarbone open, looks pretty tempting to some men, although her costumes were completely concealing the small breasts. Julejka Plisetskaja is used to the fact that she can be joked about, whistled after and made obscene suggestions. But the girl is not a bastard sewing and all long ago shut up behind the belt, and if not out, then pulled out the bat and said that she was ready to play Harley Queen. And everyone believed her.

But there was something that still made the young girl blush and complain in a fit of embarrassment. Yulia hated skirts. She always wore jeans, elk or bridge jeans everywhere. To naked her legs was something too frank, which Plisetskaya was afraid to allow. She wasn't afraid for length and slimness - nature and constant training awarded her with straight thin legs, through the skin of which strong muscles appeared. The girl could say that she is proud of them, as well as slender thighs, and tightened ass. But one "but" darkened her confidence, forcing her to squeeze the edge of her skirt in the palm of her hand up to the middle of her hip and lower her, although she was sitting perfectly on her thin waist.

Yulia thought her legs were scary - all in bruises and bruises, scratches and abrasions, they looked like the legs of a wrestler than the legs of a young maiden. The girl knew exactly where her dislocations were, she could feel the ligaments she was stretching or tearing, she could tell the time and place where these injuries were occurring. Yule felt that the marks of these events were indelible on her. She was ashamed to look at the feet, which had been wiped out in some places just before the bones, the scars on them were horrifying, as if after a fight with a tiger, and the blisters did not go off for months.

She's a sportswoman, and she's not used to it, but her self-esteem is pretty strong. Plisetskaya sometimes wants to be beautiful. The truth is beautiful, attractive, captivating and seductive. But no, she knows her ugliness, but does not know how to fight it.

The girl got to the roar of a motorcycle, which she could already know from a thousand. Beca, as always dressed in leather, parked her iron horse, on which she cut many miles of roads. That's who is perfect - beautiful, hot, strong, stylish, one indifferent look killing the crowds of men.

- Hello, Beca, - smiled Yulia's shyness, looking embarrassed at her beautiful friend, squeezing her skirt even harder.

- Hello, - the Cossack smiled back, touching her pale cheek full of lips. - It is amazing to see you in such a dress.

- I'm sorry, - Plisetskaya said, drooping her head down. - It seemed to me that it suits me...

- It really suits you, - the girl said, frowning a little. - It's a sin to hide such beauty.

- Beauty? - The girl became overblown, throwing her head up, but feeling confident when she saw a light in her black eyes, she coquettishly slammed her eyelashes and inflated her lips. - I am all beautiful. I could have noticed more often.

- I always noticed that, - Beca smiled, putting her palm on someone else's thin waist. - But I think you'll especially like pink stockings. Shall we try it later?

- It's hard to say no to such a woman, - laughed Yulia, feeling happiest now, thinking that it's not as bad to have battle marks on your feet as signs of strength and inner power.