Crush

Baseball?

No, football.

No, his arms, oh God, look at his arms... Back to baseball.

She knew he had to have played a sport. Didn't know what kind of sport but she sure wanted to find that out. That and so many other things about him. All the things.

She was studying the way his shirt was straining over different areas of his back and biceps. She was in a position to sneakily study him today. Bliss.

Stop being such a freaking creeper she admonished herself. But to no avail. The delicious inspection would continue.

Here at work, she was not the only one noticing him either. Whenever he walked by, flocks of females stupidly stuck out their tits toward him, sticking out their asses, preening like complete jackasses. All types: fat, skinny, pretty, dog-faced, it didn't matter. They all tried. Their shrill voices cawing out a greeting to him followed by silly, asinine giggles. They were all so desperate to catch his eye. She felt a hefty portion of second-hand embarrassment each time it happened.

Look at these idiot women...

She, on the other hand, remained cool and reserved. She pretended not to see him, pretended to be too absorbed in whatever task be at hand. Inside though, she was going crazy. He was creating a tempest within her in which she joyfully reveled.

She wanted to find a way to hold her body against his. The thought of how her calves would feel draped over his glorious shoulders gave her a shiver.

Sigh.

The lyrics to "Creep" came to mind. She winced.

Yeah, I'll own that. Fair enough.

She supposed that in the end, she was no better than the horny flock. She was just better at hiding it.