You know when you’re talking to someone and they have maybe a crumb or flake on their face, and you can’t help but be drawn to watch it just in case it falls, but whether it does or doesn’t fall that wouldn’t impact you in any way? But it’s distracting anyway?

That’s all women’s chests. I’m not lecherous, I have a wife and female friends, I’m vigilant and keep it in check, but I’m compelled to check on them over and over. My wife’s, stranger’s, doesn’t matter. Even if I’ve seen my wife’s every day while she was changing for 11 years. What if they were to sway a certain way? What if there was a slight bounce and I missed it? What if the fabric became taut and revealed a line beneath. Or a shape. Perhaps a slight nub in the center? Was that there a second ago? Does that mean anything? I’d better check back to see if it changes again. The buttons on her blouse are slightly stretched, and if she moves just right I may be able to see a glimpse of skin. Not breast skin, goodness no, just any skin currently covered by the shirt. If I’m lucky it’ll have some shadow on it to imply shape. This dress has a dip in the front. I wonder if I could… It would never reveal anything. It wouldn’t. But what if it did. I can’t know unless I look. This shirt is slightly sheer in the light. What’s beneath?

The fabric stretched across her backside displays lines when she bends slightly forward. Now I know she’s wearing underwear. I mean, of course she is, everyone is… but now I know she is. And its shape. Her bum looks soft. Cushioned. If I were up against it I could really- No! No. But I could. And it would press against me. Stop it. And I could reach forward from behind, slide my hands up her sides and cup her- No! No Goddammit! They look like they’d be soft. In my hands.

The older woman in black’s shirt just slid slightly up above her waistline, revealing a sliver of skin. There was nothing unexpected or special about this skin. It wasn’t overtly attractive, but I saw it. It was covered and I saw it. Does she know I saw it? I’m glad I saw it.

The waitress in the tight shirt smiled at me. She’s younger than me, but not too young. Right? No. I mean, it’d be a little creepy, but not like… creepy creepy right? And maybe she’s into that? Probably not, it’s clearly all about tips. She’s a professional, she knows what she’s doing. Yeah she does… Besides, what could even happen. I’m getting dinner, with my wife, and she probably doesn’t even get off for hours. But… just statistically some younger women are into older guys right? And I’m not complete dogshit. It’s clearly about just being nice, it’s part of the service industry. Is it so unbelievable that any woman could find me attractive? Is that fucking impossible? No but- She smiled while looking into my eyes. That’s something right? No. It’s not, I was just passing the machine back to her after paying. Her lips look soft. Maybe no one’s ever kissed her well before. Like sure she’s probably had a lot of male interest, but they were probably all douchebags. They probably didn’t even care about her pleasure. I could. I mean I would. Like, if I weren’t here and she weren’t here and we met at a different time and place and things were casual, I think she’d be lucky for me to show her… What the fuck am I even…

When she turned to leave a thin line of her underwear flashed briefly above her yoga pants. Now I know they’re blue.