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Just for today I'm the cubicle bogeyman. My snatch sack over your head rag bandages and distilled terror on my finer points. I'm hiding under your desk right now maybe snacking on forgotten granola bar crums, staring at those dainty panties you wore two days in a row Questioning the wisdom of you never checking under the desk. Obsessing Dripping grinding with anticipation... All that silky flesh snuggly crammed into nylon mesh... Its almost like the scent of nightshade or staring into the sun. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Free refills, today only. But nothing to hold it in. Oh the bad things I'm going to do today- When you're not looking when you feel safe. The odd, wet, tingling sensations I'll feel today... as I wish feverishly for you to share them. That peculiar madness of danger dancing over your loins, with those fingertips of seductive flirtations under the desk. Like a hot caramel apple, still oozing from the dredge. Like so many long slow licks against firmament.
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