You Blush: Confessions of A Vermont Erotica Writer
I am the soccer mom who lives down the street in your small Vermont town.
You don’t notice me, but oh, I notice you. Yes, you. The curve of a
stockinged calf as you slide into the driver’s seat of your Camry.
The slice of pink lace as your bra strap slips out from beneath the shoulder
of your tank top and down over sandalwood-scented skin as you stand in line
ahead of me at the Co-op. The long, strong strides of swinging thighs under
tan coveralls as you walk away from me to check for another bushel of Macouns
in the back store room of your apple packing house, plaid flannel shirt tails
rising and falling over the bouncing sway of your narrow, boyish hips. Yes,
I see you, all of you, and I know what you want.
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