Trembling like a leaf in a cyclone, I await in the queue to pay my ticket, just another working Joe on his way to punch in.
My dilated pupils, rapid shallow breath and quickening pulse can be concealed. The blush that spread through my skin like a raging fire can not.
I ask for a return ticket to my destination, unable to repress a loud sigh before articulating a word.
The bus driver notices. A bolder, older fellow, he knows he is not the cause for it, after the initial look of surprise.
I will have to regain control, I cannot parade a whole-body erection round a hospital ward.
What you just did is art. Don't ever change, my love.
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