Tante girang

Somewhere along the way, I noticed their glances. The way their eyes would follow me when I walked into the room and linger on my curves. A few times, I caught the boys a few times admiring the swell of my breasts or my long shapely legs and the curve of my hips when I bent down. Naughty little demons. They weren't as sly as they thought. At first, I brushed it off as harmless — boys being boys. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. There was something about being noticed, about still being seen that way, that stirred something in me. So, I started playing along — just a little. I'd slip into body-hugging yoga pants that clung to every curve or a low-cut top that revealed just enough of my ample cleavage to make them shift in their seats. I'd add a touch of makeup — a little eyeshadow to make my eyes pop, mascara to frame them, and a hint of gloss on my lips that caught the light just right. It wasn't too much, just enough to draw their attention. And I loved catching them loo