The Transporter Couch

I was the PICTURE of sex.  I was wearing a white shirt and white flat-front plants and black shoes and a black belt.  The shirt unbontonned my waist.  My body lean and tan.  My hair …. you already know I have movie star hair.  I heard Air singing “Sexy Boy” evereywhere I went.

 And I was a sexy boy.  Self-absorbed though I was in that moment (and am in general), I was HOT.  People looked at me.  Looked and liked what they saw.  It was a breezy day and the breeze, like a blue silk sheet, would come along and drag open my shirt and expose a nipple.  Few confess but everyone likes a little nipple. 

 That’s all.