Chapter 2

The next day my senses were heightened on the bus. I felt the fragrance of every nearby perfume, noted the shape and color of every skirt, heard voices of more or less attractive women, and constantly wondered who Miss M was. Naturally my imagination ran wild, in my mind every hand with painted nails that day touched my crotch, every look I got from a female traveler was judging my red shirt thinking of last night, and my cock shot warm white strings on every pair of painted lips I saw. The work day was a haze of handshakes and administration, meaningless to me in all other respects than as order of business meant to be carried out as efficiently as possible without personal engagement. I lunched alone at a nearby café, and took the letter from last night to the men's room, and looked at it like a fixation. I did not want to masturbate though, in the case I would get something more in the mail tonight.

Back home there was nothing on my door mat, which disappointed me immensely. Instead I watched a bad college movie and had dinner in the couch. During a commercial brake, I suddenly heard something in the hallway. My heart jumped, I ran to the door and opened it, but all I heard was the sound of stiletto's walking briskly downstairs. I ran back to the street side window in my apartment, just in time to see a taxi drive off. There she was, out of reach and out of touch.