I am looking for a female writer who will continue from the below prompt. I am not looking for small talk or chats. Granted not everyone writes the same as me, but around half of the below would be a good benchmark... I don't care if your character is 25, 35, 45, we're just two women who desperately need to get super passionate together, so I'd appreciate a good description of you, and briefly how you got there to build up, so we can fuck right here. :)

Though I sneakily admit this feels like it’d be hotter with a significantly older woman on my frame of eighteen, so older women to the front!

The night is slightly chilly, but it's nothing I can't handle. And right at this moment, there's nothing more on my mind than getting home to a nice, hot cup of tea or coffee, hell, maybe even a beer, and settling in with my boyfriend where we rent near the college.

I've just hopped off the elevator on the seventh floor of the multi-storey parking lot. It was 2am by this point, but the town was still fully populated and busy, and even up here on the 7th floor, there was almost no spaces to speak of. I step out of the elevator, my classic, box-new black vans barely making a noise on the concrete, the white rims of the sole and laces obnoxiously bright in this lighting.

I wasn't too much of a girl at eighteen years of age, just 5'4'' in height, with a pretty petite figure, and unusually thin legs. I mean, even under these tight, jet black skinny jeans it was clear how small I really was. A chunky, studded belt bucket was just mere decoration, the little silver skull holding it together at the front. It wasn't ideal for the awards evening, but it was my style. On my upper half? A black spaghetti strap top, contrasting with my pale skin, and modest concealing my C cups, with just the amount of cleavage I wanted to show. Atop that, a dark brown leather jacket, let unzipped, just to cover my arms for the short walk to the car.

My hair was a vivid and flowing purple, stretching just below my shoulders, the ends slightly messy but well kept after such a long night. Around my purple contact lenses, a double winged, black cat eyeliner style, and purple lipstick to finish the... kinda goth, kinda punk, kinda emo identity crisis that was me at the time.

I walk into the modestly lit parking area, nothing but the soft breeze for company, the gentle thumping of beats from the nearby dance hall and clubs. As I'm nearing my car, walking along the trunks of all the cars, a woman steps out from her car, reaching into her clutch bag, idly searching.

Clunk.

Her keys land on the concrete just in front of me, followed by an "Oops." A soft voice accompanying it.

Instinctively, I squat down to take it, and as I stand, handing it back to the perfect stranger, she looks up, and our eyes meet.

And oh hell do they meet.

She could be 25, she could be 35, could be 45, I don't even know. And I'm not into girls, but the moment my eyes looked this womans body up and down, every inch of my body wanted to sleep with her. All notions of my unwaivering heterosexuality had gone. I feel myself biting my lip so hard in my mouth, and I swallow.

She does the same. We've not said a work, but the chemistry is racing through us.

My hand reaches over to my right, slowly, to a few frantic breaths, my hand soundlessly putting the keys on the trunk of the woman's car. She takes one step closer, and it's like poison as she closes that short gap.

And in a moment of madness, I lunge into you, my right arm hooking around your neck, my left on your right shoulder, and our lips passionately colliding, your clutch loudly falling to the floor. My purple lipstick smudges straight across your mouth, and my right leg instinctively throws around your waist, bolting onto my toes in my vans with my left. And right then, I am passionately making out with a woman I had seen less than fifteen seconds ago...