Your hands can penetrate my body, so it’s impossible for me to see them, and see you, and not think about sex. They slide into my pants and stroke me until I’m wet and desperate. They make their way up my skirt to feel how hot I am, or they’re teasing, or they take ownership of my cunt and tits, or they cover my mouth and hold me down, or they’re positively gentle and sweet and loving with the warmest, most affectionate touch. If I’m looking at you in a public place, there’s a good chance I’m looking at your hands and thinking about what they could do to me.

It’s a near certainty that I’ll never say hello, though. When I’m checking you out, I’m also thinking about how I wouldn’t know where to begin, how even if I had your number, I wouldn’t know whether to call it, and not because I don’t want to fuck you, because I most certainly do. It’s because I’m thinking about all the things I can’t tell you. And if I’m still looking at you, however slyly, I’m probably thinking about what a shame that is, and how sometimes I wish I had a normal life and a normal identity and no secrets at all.

So I look for a while, and I smile a little, and then I go.

*

I’m in touch with the French boy. I won’t know whether I’ll see him until I’m on the other side of the Atlantic, but I’m ambivalent enough to toss a coin on the issue.

Andrew is quiet. Maybe, then, it’s this image I have in my mind of him first orgasming in private that turns me on. I imagine him hidden from his parents and sisters, tucked in the back of a closet or maybe flat on his back in bed, roughly working his cock under the covers while his family sleeps. I think of those dead-quiet spasms and twitches, the come flooding his adolescent fist and making him blush.

So when I’m between his legs lapping at his cock and I hear his silence crack with a soft moan, my pussy throbs. I want more from him. I want him to lose control.

He was moaning when I was stroking his cock with both hands, and I drew the experience out, maybe unfairly. I wanted to draw it out for as long as he could handle, so I alternated my rhythm and pace, using my hands and the deepest part of my throat, and when his heels were digging hard into the mattress, I reached for a condom, slid it on, and then put his cock inside me.

And then he was vocal.