She was barely 5 foot nothin' with dark skin and petite, probably not a day over 17 in olive cargo pants and an absurd, floppy fisherman's hat. She was cute as she could be, too, bounding up to the counter to say something to a friend who was working there. Only, I noticed all of these attributes later. The moment my head turned her way the first thing I noticed were her ENORMOUS BREASTS poured into the tightest, teeniest brown T-shirt she owned. And remember, she was bounding.
Now I don't ordinarily get my head turned by breasts. It's fairly common knowledge that I'm all about the legs. But they were just so... THERE and it's uncommon that you see them on someone with such a small frame. As a breast-guy friend of mine might've once said, she was built like a brick shit-house. By the time I had torn my eyes away from them and taken in the rest of the package and got to her face, she was looking right at me and giving me the biggest shit-eating grin that said "I just caught you checking me out, old dude."
I smiled back then looked away, still waiting for the Colonel's legs and thighs. I could see in my peripheral view that she looked my way a couple of times to see if I'd check her out again. When she left the counter to return to her booth, I turned my body slightly so I could keep her in my peripheral view, but not look directly at her. She did a full turn and looked my way to see if I was watching her.
I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.