As I sat there, holding a conversation, my eyes were drawn to the bottom of a tattoo. Slightly peaking out beneath short shirt sleeves. Trying to focus, I bounced my eyes back to his, stormy and always squinting with a smile. How I want to remove his shirt, and see what’s underneath. Touch my fingers to his taut nipples. Gaze upon that which I have desired for so long.. I want to see the shock envelope his face when he realizes I have finally crossed the line. To hold him down and make him admit what he wants. Maybe then those smiling eyes might waver.