Standing there

He was standing there. 

Leaning against the wall, his right leg casually raised up with the sole of his black shoe flat against the brick work.  His jacket done up but his black shirt underneath loose at the collar, his tie hanging out of the right hand pocket where he stood with both hands casually resting.

I sat there, about 20 feet away. Watching him watching everyone else.  Every couple of seconds he would look in the other direction, just as if he were waiting for someone but wasn't sure which way they were going to come.  He looked impatient, on edge, nervous even.  He glanced at his watch and then went back to looking one way and then the other.

I continued to watch him, not breaking my gaze. Even when he looked over in my direction, our gazes met, but I did not look away.  He looked for a matter of seconds, before breaking gaze and looking downwards.  I continued to stare and smiled inwardly.

He went to look up once more, his hand nervously reaching to his fringe as he pushed it away from his rather boyish looking face.  He looked vulnerable, shy, uncertain.  When he saw that I was still looking, he averted his gaze, looking down at the silver watch that was on his wrist once again. And he blushed. 

I smiled outwardly this time at the reddening of his cheeks. I could see he was trying to look up enough to see if I was still looking at him but not wanting to be caught doing so.  I was determined not to look away.  He must have been in his early twenties, maybe even a little more, yet appeared in his persona and through his reactions like a young boy. 

I continued to watch him, wishing at that moment that the wall he was leaning against was in a quieter place and then how it would be a perfect place and that he was stood in a perfect position to be pushed hard against the wall, a hand around his throat forcing his head back against the brick work, covering his lips with my own as I would kiss him deeply.  There is something so desirable about full lips that makes me want to kiss them, to suck them, to bite them.  Even from the distance I was, I could quite clearly make out the outline of his lips, but there is something that hits me whenever I think about kissing . . .the desire to do so builds with an intensity and a speed that is incredibly powerful.

And as I watched him, the images that ran through my mind of doing just that to him, right there, right then made me smile inwardly and outwardly, my own body reacting at the strength of the thoughts and the whole host of images running through my mind like a film on fast forward.

Devouring. Tasting. Biting. Teasing. A tightening grip.  The fear within his eyes.  The deep desire from within. An intake of breath. A gasp. A groan. A moan.

Lost in my own thoughts, my gaze still not averted. He is still nervous. Still looking from one side to another. Wanting to look up but afraid of seeing if I am still watching. 

I am. My gaze not averted at all. 

He looks up and I am drawn by the way his body is reacting, drawn by the reddening of his cheeks.  I hold his gaze for just a while longer and he looks down blushing again, his boyish charm so endearing, so appealing, so attractive.  And yet, it brought some sadistic thoughts to the forefront of my mind.

And he looks away in the other direction, the moment gone.  I glance up, the traffic lights have turned green and I am already running late for work, but the thoughts remain with me as I continue the drive.

They remain now.

.