Lagerbier
It was hot and muggy inside the otherwise well-equipped apartment. "Where's the fucking air conditioning?" Mati asked. Her faux-silk dressing gown had not been designed to cover, but she looked ready to remove it entirely.
Cal gestured to the window. Mati had to reach across her own paperwork-strewn desk to reach the latch, and he looked up from his German-English dictionary to watch. The bottom of her wrap pulled up to reveal one edge of a shapely bum to him, and after the curtains were pushed aside the rest of the neighbourhood had a clear view of Mati's breasts. He turned back to his new mobile - Handy, that's what it was called here - and the dictionary. Cal was regularly astonished by his American flatmate's disregard for modesty, but felt it would be contrary to his position as a red-blooded male to dissuade her from wandering about effectively starkers. The choice of clothing was probably related in part, to the beer bottle she'd kept by her side since discovering the local brew.
No bottle got emptied in less than four hours, but the one time they'd sat down to watch a rugby match together (she hadn't the slightest clue about rugby, and he'd felt obligated to inform the hopeless Yank), he'd discovered that it didn't take more than three of those bottles before Mati became ridiculous, and ever since he'd put more stock in their effect on her everyday choices.
Cal gestured to the window. Mati had to reach across her own paperwork-strewn desk to reach the latch, and he looked up from his German-English dictionary to watch. The bottom of her wrap pulled up to reveal one edge of a shapely bum to him, and after the curtains were pushed aside the rest of the neighbourhood had a clear view of Mati's breasts. He turned back to his new mobile - Handy, that's what it was called here - and the dictionary. Cal was regularly astonished by his American flatmate's disregard for modesty, but felt it would be contrary to his position as a red-blooded male to dissuade her from wandering about effectively starkers. The choice of clothing was probably related in part, to the beer bottle she'd kept by her side since discovering the local brew.
No bottle got emptied in less than four hours, but the one time they'd sat down to watch a rugby match together (she hadn't the slightest clue about rugby, and he'd felt obligated to inform the hopeless Yank), he'd discovered that it didn't take more than three of those bottles before Mati became ridiculous, and ever since he'd put more stock in their effect on her everyday choices.