Bawdy-House Mother

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It was ten-thirty on a beautiful April morning when Conchi Thorne, the woman in Apartment 6-B, looked at her nude self in the bathroom mirror. She was preparing herself for Keith Broys who would come to her at eleven.

Her breasts showed fair and firm in the long mirror; coral tipped and slightly aquiver in their nudity. The taper of her waist flared gently into the span of her hips where the thick patch of brown curly hair made an almost perfect triangle on her belly. Her thighs, so exquisitely turned, gave way to dimpled knees and curving calf's, to slender ankles and well-molded feet.

Conchi was a pretty picture indeed. Light brown hair fell to her shoulders where its softness curled inward to frame dark brown eyes and sensual lips-lips that were pleasingly red without the aid of lipstick.

A birthmark, shaped like a small aspen leaf, marked the creamy skin on her left hip. And if that could be called a flaw it was the only one on Conchi's body.

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