A Wanted Man

She watches herself in the mirror, dressing, pulling on a layer and then another of camoflage, hiding her skin and her shape from the world, masking her face in the beauties of the day. Shimmering bronze for her eyelids, the twin heavy wings of mascara lashing her cheeks. Something frosted pinkly for lipstick – steadied, readied to walk out the door.

And yet, when she turns the corner and catches sight of him, feels the movement of the air ripple and crack around the space where he just stood, inhales the faint and lingering cedar-scent of something he uses every morning, or hears the tone of his laugh so easily distunguished from the tumult of other manly laughter from the boardroom .. always then, her heart racing, her shields and clothes and make-up no protection – she knows she needs her fix. Her electric arousal fix. Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, breathing in subtly but deeply, and then opening her eyes and smiling soft at the object of her relentless desire. “Good morning.”

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