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I can see them watching me, it feels good.
I let my mind wander, do they imagine what I feel like? What I sound like? What my sweat tastes like?
I slow down and bend over to adjust my shoe, maybe they catch me. I hope they do. I expect them to watch me as I straighten my skirt and continue walking. I don't mind their eyes, but I don't want to hear them. I want them to hear me. The click of my heels, the sigh of my breath, the moan from my mouth when my water is so refreshing.
I let my mind move onto the next one, she sees me from afar. Does she like women? Does she see me as a threat? Does she find me sexy? I want her to want me, to want to be me, to envy my sexuality. Maybe she admires the swing in my hips, maybe she is jealous of my confidence. Am I confident for wanting to be watched? Some say yes, some say no, I think I am me.
I pass her and smile, she smiles back and I compliment her dress. I want her to look at herself and think she is sexy. She is sexy, I find her lips appealing, and when my mind visualizes her between my thighs, I moan. She looks revolted and turns away quickly. I remember her fondly.
I feel him before I see him, something stuck on my back like a sign "SHE IS THINKING ABOUT SEX WITH ANOTHER WOMAN". I look over my shoulder and he is crossing to my side of the street. I turn away as if he frightens me, but I am already putting on a show. I pull my shirt down lower and rub my ribs as I do, showing him I am not afraid of my own body, or him. He catches up but passes me, I did not excite him. Do I feel sadness, or shame?
As I sit on the train, my phone buzzes, "u r so hot" from hitesh_1985. I blush and accept the message. Don't act so eager, make him do the talking. I send back a heart, he instantly replies wanting to know if I like sex.
I could answer a million ways, "A lot"; "More than you know"; "I am a sex addict".
Instead, I send a photo of my open mouth. I hope he can hear my moaning.