Of course I know that you’re looking down my top! What do you think I am – stupid?
When I tried it on in the changing room at Gap, the first thing I did was bend forward into the mirror, to check that my boobs were showing to full effect. And I did the same when I put it on this morning.
I mean, obviously, I had no way of knowing that I would see you today. But when your pale blue eyes locked onto mine when I came to clear the next table, my heart just knew why I wore it.
There are four sides to a table, so simple maths will tell you that my choice of the side opposite you meant that I’d calculated the optimum angle to give you the best view.
I went to college you know!
But still – I don’t know why. I don’t understand the rules of attraction. I don’t know the reason your eyes (on me) make me feel so … real. I don’t know why I want to be wanton. For you.
Yet my eyes crave you. They love the attention you give. They seek you out. Catch your gaze. Almost smile. Want to hold this pseudo-love for a little longer.
Am I normal? What a question!
Yes, there are women who say that they abhor the raping gaze of a man on the prowl. They shout and complain at the slightest sign of appreciation – a smile, a whistle or, heaven forbid – a catcall. They want to tame the animal. They are not me.
Because it’s not that I need you. One husband’s enough for me. I know he’s at home. On the sofa again. Safe in front of the TV as usual. Solid and real as he’s always been.
But what I wouldn’t give, for him to look at me … the way you do.