…I wanted to trot into her place of her work with elegance and so I slipped on a clean pair of black trousers, and my stiff collared white shirt clasped to my torso by a soft brown velvet jacket. Slotted into my side pocket was Jean-Paul Sartre’s The Age of Reason, which I thought should accompany me because I didn’t know how long I would have to sit in the waiting lounge. I’m a decent sort of guy and was doing this for a worthwhile adventure and not necessarily to ogle at the other staff, but if I did happen to get turned on by glimpsing them I knew my partner would understand, if not encourage a total sensory experience. I got there at eleven-thirty, half an hour before I knew she would be finishing up. A hive of enticing thoughts trailing from my wafting velvet jacket tails as I swarmed across the dark empty street up to the entrance and beezed the doorbell. I wanted to feel horny. I wanted to sweat; feel the insatiable sting plucked from my swelling lust, yet I could not. Her body has very visible and exposed collarbones, her boobs appear to be maybe C cups or bigger, I have not been able to tell in her pictures that I have creeped on. I have only seen one picture where her hips are shown and I know she works out, so I assume she wears like a Medium from Victoria Secret and has a nice ass that is semi-toned or fully toned. The type of ass that you can smack, leave a red mark, and then it jiggles a little with the slap. I put on some khaki shorts as it is summer still and a nice button-up T-shirt with a little print on the outside. Under a nice “fear the beard” T-shirt to show my city some love. Then some clean Nike Shoes just in case we go out for a little walk or something. Spike up my hair to the side, shave, apply a little cologne and I think I am ready to go. Check my breath and quickly give it one last rinse just in case I get lucky enough.I head out, order a lyft and get to her place. When I ring on her doorbell and get into her apartment.
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