I saw her today. Two o’clock on the dot. I love a woman who’s punctual, just like me. She was glorious: Milky white skin, French manicure, long luxurious fingers. I usually hate smokers, but I would never have known her otherwise. Well, I don’t actually know her, but I feel her. She works in a cubicle, like me, uses number 10 pencils, like me. She arrives to the office early everyday and carefully drapes her sweater over her chair. It will stay pressed, but conveniently close incase the office gets too cool, but it never does. She goes to get her coffee. She’s a one-cup-a-day girl, unlike me. I rise from my cubicle at precisely 2 pm each day and cross to the coffee maker by the lone window at the end of the hall. And that’s when I spy her velvety forearm glowing in the sunlight from the window across the alley. I go mad with desire. I want to envelop her with my masculinity. She’s shy, I can tell. I’ll help her open up…..
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