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November 1, 2016

I wanted you from the first moment I saw you – in the launderette of all places. You were bending over to put your clothes in the dryer. Such a lovely arse, I thought. Covered by faded denim, as the best arses often are. I wanted to touch it. To run my hand over it and up your muscular back, now exposed at the waistline as you bent over. Of course I shouldn’t be objectifying a man like this. Not after women have spent centuries trying to escape the staring eyes of men. But I couldn’t help it. The sight of you was electrifying.

You straightened up and looked in my direction. Maybe you had sensed my look. I tried to look away but my eyes woul...

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