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Yva Leander

She may be the song that summer sings (Charles Aznavour)

 

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A warm summer day on a Nordic beach. A girl is running through the surf and through the marram grass. Apart from a straw hat, she may just be stark naked… Her long blond hair is blown in the warm wind, her slender joints are flexible and refined, covered with water drops. Her golden, soft skin shines in the sun. Her steel blue eyes are focused far into the distance and then very close again; they are glaring, ardent. Yva Leander has the sex appeal of a Swedish Brigitte Bardot and her embraces are hotter than a July night in Saint Tropez. Her warmth fills everyone who spends time with her with a summer lightness, even if autumn storms are raging outside. Then, Yva nestles herself in your arms like a lascivious water nymph and puts a spell on you with her hourglass figure, as if time did not exist – merely the up and down of the waves.

 

 

Yva Leander about herself.

I often do not understand people. The worries that haunt them. Life can be so easy! The interpersonal – is there anything more beautiful than giving each other joy? There is no need to speak; a stroke, a gentle look is enough. Walk through the sand with me, barefoot, salt on our skin, we will drink rum right from the bottle. Put your arm around me, tell me your story. I am a creature that can let go easily. However, I can also be strong, with clear thoughts. You will be surprised about what I will entice and inspire you to do. Yet, it is all about your own dreams and desires – that I may be able to discern much better than you yourself are able to. I absorb your vibrations like the water surface and soon we will both be surrounded and caressed by sparkling pearls.

 

 

Profession: Interior designer

Languages: German, English

Height: 1.75

Figure: smoking hot curves 

Breats: 90B 

Hautton: desert beige

Eyes: steel blue

Hair: real blonde

Favourite drink: rum cocktails, champagne

Favourite food: French brasserie style, pan-asian fusion food

Favourite restaurant: Sra Bua by Tim Raue