eyes meet
all erogenous zones go on red alert
tiny hairs you didn't even know existed prickle in their follicles
you swallow once
and then again
your heart runs as if the wild hunt pursues it
eyes become fingers stealing
a nibble on the collar bone
a hesitant tongue on curving dip of the upper lip
That person is fuckable
Home home home, I'm almost home. I have that after work soaring feeling, like you'll never see the inside of a building again. And then I see them. Three dirty old men standing, talking, by the sidewalk where I will soon walk. I shudder. There is no place to cross and if I stopped it would make things worse. Besides, what am I afraid of? Dirty old man talk? Never!

So I keep walking, and as I near them they become silent. Completely silent. I can feel their eyes, every single one of them, following me, tracing my body, invading my mind (which is so much worse than touching me). I could take it if they yelled something, anything, to break the awful silence, a "Hey baby, you want some good lovin?" or even a comment from the "sweet tits" category. But all I get is that dirty little smirk, like they know you hate it and that's why they do it, like they're thinking "fuckable fuckable fuckable" the whole time, not "her eyes are burning me and she is beautiful" like the boy on the bus with the fidgety hands (or at least that's what I imagined he was thinking).

I let out a deep breath on the street corner, but the dirt from their eyes did not go away. Ew. I feel yucky.

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