I can remember it like it was yesterday, even though it happened today; that's how clearly it is in my mind. But I've been thinking about it so much that it seems like something that happened to someone else, something I heard about, something I remember happening a while ago. I felt so god when I got home that I have to write it down, so Toni could see it when she got back. I know that it would make her smile.

I had an early morning doctor's appointment today; she wanted me to be in her office by nine-thirty. I almost didn't make it; getting up before ten isn't one of my strong suits, considering that I work a second shift job. Especially not with the way I spend my nights with Toni.

But I'm getting off the subject.

It was kinda cold out today; the temperature couldn't've been more than about 50 degrees. And it was raining- just a little bit, the almost misting kind of rain, but it was a cold rain, the kind that eventually soaks through everything. I figured that, since I was gonna be out in it, I should wear something that would keep me warm. I picked out my pantsuit, and off I went.

The visit to the doctor's office was pretty routine; she checked out my cervix- yet again; why a healthy 27-year old woman like me has to visit her gynecologist every six months is a mystery to me. Personally, I just think the doctor is paranoid. I mean, she's pretty fresh outta med school. Anyway, the only bad point about that was that I had a male nurse, and he was an asshole. Tell me, do you think that the examination room of a gynecology office is the best place to pick up women? Someone got tell that to the jerk who works there.

After I get dressed, passed by the stalker-in-training, and left the building, I went back downtown.

That's where my day got better.

No, the clouds didn't go away, and the rain didn't let up, nor did the day warm up any. At least, not for the downtown people.

I was standing out underneath the bus shelter, waiting for the bus to come. He was late, and I was cold; in my mad dash to get to the doctor's on time, I forgot to grab my coat, and so I was braving the cold armed with only my sweater. That's when I saw him.

Now, don't get me wrong; I didn't go fallin all over myself, dreamin about what he was like in bed. I mean, yeah, he was kinda cute, but he just wasn't my type. I don't swing that way, at least not anymore. Maybe back in the day, I mighta thought about someone like him. But even still, he wasn't sendin out the right vibes. His shit was all wrong. Y'know? Jerk, dog, asshole, fuckhead-- it was just comin offa him in waves. And the saddest part about it was that he probably didn't even know it. Poor boy.

He was taller than me-- I'm only 5'4"-- about 5'10" or so, light-skinned; big, pretty brown eyes and short brown hair. He was wearing a pair of black boots, baggy blue jeans, and a Karl Kani sweatshirt underneath a Dallas Cowboys starter jacket.

I was standing, leaning against the side wall, waiting, watching, and trying to keep moving so that I wouldn't freeze my ass off. He walked past me, and sat down on the bench, kitty-corner to where I was standing. I really didn't pay him any attention at first, because I was busy wonderin what was holding the bus up. I noticed him when I happened to glance in his direction; his head dropped down to his lap real quick, like he'd suddenly gotten interested in his jeans. Like I'd almost caught him starin' at me.

I fished in my pocket for my sunglasses, and put them on, so I could see him, without him knowing. I pretended to look for the bus.

After about a minute, when he didn't think I could see him, he looked up at me again. He wasn't starin, but he wasn't bein shy, either. He looked at me; I could feel his eyes on my face. His gaze wandered down, and then back up, several times.

I thought about saying something, but before I could open my mouth, two things happened.

The first was mundane; the bus finally turned the corner, and started up the block. I happened to look at my wach and notice that he was forteen minutes late. The second thing that happened was kinda profound. I had a flash of thought, about why this man was lookin me over, and about why I wasn't going to say anything to him about it. I mean, I should have felt indignant, with this guy looking at me like I was something to fulfill his fantasies.

But that's exactly what he's supposed to think, my mind whispered to me

I had to really think about that for a few minutes, and sort out what it was that my mind was telling me that it wasn't saying. But, when I figured it out, I realized the simplicity of the whole thing, and I allowed myself a small smile.

I started walking towards the bus as it pulled up; out of the corner of my eyes, I could see him standing up, and stopping for a moment to hitch up his jeans and tuck his coat a little tighter around his hips. I really smiled then. He had an erection. For me.

I could feel myself starting to get wet.

I sat down in the second forward-facing seats on the left side. He sat down on the side-facing seats in the front of the bus, on the right. And as he sat down, I could see the bulge in the fly of his jeans. My smile got bigger, and my panties got a little wetter.

And it wasn't even because of him that I was so wet, so excited.

I mean, it was because of him, butnot because of him. Maybe that sounds weird, but I was turned on, not because of him, but because he was turned on by me. His arousal for me made me aroused.

He wanted me. That made me feel good. That's what my brain was trying to tell me. Not that I had to feel good because a man wanted me-- I didn't play into that stereotypical bullshit anymore-- but because I was wanted, desired. Because someone wanted to be in bed with me....and they couldn't have me. He couldn't have me in his bed.

That was the most delicious irony of it all. He was aroused by me, and truth to tell I was aroused, but not by him. His desire felt good to have, but it felt even better because he couldn't have me, because I had osmeone who wanted me even more than he ever could, because he couldn't compare, because he wasn't my type, and I could still arouse him. That I had that power over him, and that power was in somebody else's hands. That was what made me so wet,so hot, so needy.

He wanted me, but I could only think of Toni, and the way she would look at me when I got home from work, tired an worn out from dealin with insensitive men who thought that all I needed was a good man to "straighten" me out. And she would make me forget about those men, and about being tired, as we would make love-- sometimes softly, slowly, peacefully; other times hard, rough, violently-- making love in a way that I'd never done before in any hetero relationship I'd ever been in. And afterwards, after we were physically sated, we would crul up together, her arms around me, her breasts pressing into my back, her hand cupping one of my breasts, her fingers softly squeezing a nipple between them, and speak words of love and care to each other.

And he had nothing to do with it.

Thinking of my desirability was what aroused me. Thinking of being in Toni's arms was what aroused me. All he had done was to have an erection. And probably not a decent one, at that.