You wake up with a huge smile on your face, despite the alarm clock buzzing at that hideous repetitive tone that seems to somehow touch your soul; or is it that you’ve just woken up and are still a bit sleepy? You ponder that for a second while scratching yourself. 

“Good morning me” you say to yourself, while searching around for a pair of shorts to cover your naked body. Finding a really comfortable blue pair of jogging shorts, you jump into them and descend the stairs to refuel. 

Your apartment is small, there’s no denying it. It’s not like you can’t afford a bigger place – not a huge amount bigger, but bigger nonetheless. There is just something about your place that makes you happy and content. It’s self-contained and has everything you need in it. You know someday you’ll need to move out. After all it’s not big enough for 2 people, but for now it’s home and you’re quite happy to keep it like that. 

Making your way through into the kitchen you pop the kettle on, drink a glass of water, eat a banana, pee (and wash your hands), turn your laptop on, check your phone messages – none, make a cup of tea, light a cigarette and read through your emails. 

“Perfect start to the day” you mutter after seeing only 9 new emails and spotting that none would contain anything resembling important information. That gave you the chance to delete them all, close the laptop and do some exercises. 

“One, one, two, two…” you count through bicep curls with two 10kg weights, in a really half-hearted attempt to attain the perfect physique. This is just one of the exercises you do on a regular basis – not every day, but regularly enough to keep you firm without being too defined. _{Due the continuous frustration of trying to get a six-pack, you} don’t realise that this is actually the right body shape for you, if you had the body you wanted, you’d probably turn into a dick-head. 

After having a shower, including the mandatory shower gratitude, you get dressed and head out into the big wide world. Something about the day has given you a skip in your step, and you decide to walk to work today. It’s only about 30 minutes, you’re on time and the walk will give you a chance to get ready for the day and smoke a few cigarettes on the way. 

Knowing you were likely to be heading out drinking after work, you sported your favourite pair of jeans. There are 3 reasons why these are your favourite jeans. Firstly, they seem to match all of your shoes and t-shirts. Something to do with the fading in the colour and the in- between straight and boot-cut fit. Secondly they fitted perfectly. In fact they were the only pair of jeans you didn’t need to wear a belt with that didn’t also constrict your blood flow. Finally they had a zip rather than buttons. This particular zip, had a hidden added benefit: regardless of whether you are lying down, sitting, standing, walking or running, you look like you’ve got a huge cock. Luckily for you, there is 

something considerable behind the zip; otherwise you’d just be disappointing people. 

Completing the look with a casual white shirt, and a light black jacket, you’ve achieved that perfection between smart and looking like you really don’t give a shit. The only problem you’ll face with that look is if you get dirty at all, you will really look a mess. 

Ambling down the street with a tediously repetitive dance tune playing in your ear, you start to notice the people swarming the land around you in every direction. Each one of them with their own lives, their own families, jobs, friends, birthdays, hobbies, interests and sexuality. The only thing connecting you with them is the fact you are in the street together. 

You can see him walking ahead of you on the other side of the street. He’s wearing blue jeans that are slightly too tight for him. A red sports jacket with cream writing and cuffs. His hair is dark, cropped to a couple of inches, styled in short spikes. His jacket is open but he’s ahead of you and you can’t see his t-shirt. 

From the side, his face looks lean and quite angular. His lower face covered in hair beyond stubble but hasn’t quite got to full beard yet. He’s got no piercings, at least none you can see… the thought stirs you a little. You feel the movement in your underwear and your heartbeat increases. 

Suddenly he looks round and catches your gaze. You make a slight stuttering movement in your walk as your mind urges your body not to stop still. But it was too noticeable; he glances to your crotch, back to your face and then smiles warmly before looking further behind his shoulder and crossing the street towards you. 

He’s not looking at your any more; he’s focused on the road in front of him and the traffic. You slow down instinctively to give him space in front of you while also moving over to the side of the pavement so he can walk next to you, should he choose to. 

He hops onto the pavement with a flamboyant yet graceful step-jump, that surely only a friend of Dorothy would expose to the public. Then he takes his place on the pavement in directly in front of you about 3 meters ahead. Despite being a little disappointed that he didn’t drop in next to you and start a conversation, you are reconciled by the fact that his butt is in perfect view, and you’re doubly happy that it’s a very nice butt indeed. 

Your trousers stir again, this time with a moment of forced pressure that you just couldn’t resist. Your tight underwear stretched but preventing too much growth, while your jeans are now doing a great job of hiding you. You smirk at the thought of being erect while in public, but then turn your attention to the guy. The guy in front. The guy who’s now like 6 meters in front! 

“Woah, what happened” it comes out at a little over a whisper; you shudder at having let that slip. It looks like you got away with it. You contemplate for a moment how bad it could have been if someone 

had heard and it had been another thought that slipped out. There were after all so many which weren’t really appropriate for public consumption. 

Returning your focus to him, he’s now about 9 meters in front of you. He stops. Turns round, looks at your face, glances down to your crotch, then back to your face before turning back. He bends forward, arse in the air and starts to tie his shoelaces. 

The distance between you is closing, you have no idea what you should do in this situation. The signs all seem to be there, he smiled at you, walked in front, and now he’s quite clearly offering himself to you in the middle of the street! 

You realise that he probably isn’t expecting you to come up behind him and penetrate him right there, but you seem to think there’s a relatively high level of indicators all pointing you in the same direction. 

You’re 2 meters away now, you’re starting to slow down, you are staring at his rear, seeing all the detail available beneath jeans. And now you’re getting closer, you notice his jacket riding up leaving his skin exposed, the small patch of hair growing at the base of his back gives you the last image you need to break free of the tight hold of your underwear. You feel yourself snap upwards beneath the waistband; grateful of the angle preventing visibility above your jeans. 

As you get closer, almost close enough to touch him, your arm reaches out. You imagine your hand making contact with his jeans. You get close, a few inches away before he stands suddenly. 

You manage to retract your hand in time, pulling yourself upright before reaching his vision alongside him. Peering out the corner of your eye you see he’s looking directly in front of him, not even a glance your way. You regress into internal panic and confusion, your pace slows while you try to weigh everything out and work out if this guy was really flirting with you or not. 

He’s back alongside you, jackets making contact, but not quite close enough for bodies to touch. His pace is faster than yours and he’s making headway in front of you. 

You left it too late to speed up now as he’s stepping out in front of you. He looks behind, you crumble, you’re desperate for him to gaze into your eyes and kiss you. But his eyes stare out into the empty street behind you. He looks forwards, causally drifts into the turning on the right, down the street and out of your life forever. 

“What happened there?” you say aloud. Not caring who heard you as you continued to walk straight on the way to your office. Walking on your own again, you immerse back into the music in your ears. Settling into the rhythm of the beats and your steps, all your movements in time. 

And then you see the blonde guy with the scarf.