Watching the wildlife.

I sipped my tea slowly, and was already enjoying the delicious view of her curvaceous, pear-shaped bottom in the drab khakis she wore as part of her uniform. Her back was to me. She dropped a spoon. She squatted rather than bent herself downward, and as she did so, I had to hold my breath while two or so inches of her bottom's seam presented themselves exclusively for my view.

I love those rare opportunities (not as rare as they used to be, given current fashions) when Fate presents a quick glimpse of inviting crack to view. There's something so subtle, but also adrenalin-rushing, about viewing the seam of an excellent ass. Full nudity doesn't quite have the same appeal as this... it's like a wink, or a blown kiss, or that unexplainable sparkle that one feels when the right flirt happens at the right time with someone you pass on the street... but more clandestine than any of these things.

In the warm glow of refracted light, it was easy to see that her skin had a very slight brownish tone, as though she was suntanned not too long ago. The texture of her skin looked enticing enough that it took know effort to know how her warm flesh would feel were I caressing her. There was a fullness to her cheeks, easily revealing that were she nude and lying on her belly, her ass would be high in the air, and as round and warm as a loaf of bread fresh from the oven. Her brunette hair told me that her rosebud would likely be crinkled and dark, presenting an intoxicating contrast to her skin.

This was Steph, who was my server at the superb breakfast restaurant on Bloor Street that I just came from. Steph is adorably cute, perhaps in her early 20s, possessed with a winning smile and an achingly delightful young-womanly shape that desperately deserves to be straddled across my lap for a long, sensual session of spanking and handling.

I work in an environment that has me outdoors for most of my day, and affords me hundreds of opportunities to enjoy observing the comings and goings of women. Even when I was a boy, women have intrigued and fascinated me, and throughout life, almost all of my best friends have been women. Perhaps this is also why I enjoy the company of lesbians and bisexual women so much, and why among all women I'm most comfortable in their company; it's not so much the fantasy of women-loving-women that captures me (although, yes, it's lovingly enticing, and I've been there), but the fact that I adore women so much that to be cordial with women who also adore women is like being close to a living Rodin sculpture while mutually admiring an oil by Van Gogh.

As I type this in one of Toronto's multiple internet cafes, I sigh deeply with memory of the various delicious women I've enjoyed seeing today. There's been a scrumptious visual feast of fine bottoms today. I've also been torturing myself with memories of Bree, of whom I'll eventually write more, and the one night of mutual body massage we shared that led to some very intimate caresses on her exquisite, toned Spanish behind.

And I'm craving companionship. Tragically, the Grrl is away to the States to visit some friends, and unless another option presented itself, I'm on my own with my hunger.

I think, when the Grrl gets home, I'll duly administer some warranted punishment on her wayward flesh for having been away.