I like to work in coffee shops. I like the atmosphere, the hum of conversation and background music, the aroma of the coffee and the whoosh of the machines. I find it a good environment to write in, inspiration coming easily and the words flowing.
About a year ago, I was working a couple of days each week in the Costa in the town centre when Eden started behind the bar there. I noticed her immediately - I have always been delighted by petite young women. I can't now remember, though, whether it was her long, blonde hair that first caught my eye, or her slender, toned legs. Or perhaps it was that smile, or those deep brown eyes.
I do remember thinking how striking her eyes were against her hair and how unusual the combination was. And then feeling guilty when that triggered a train of thought on whether or not she was a natural blonde, in which my mind swept down, pausing briefly at her lips, again at her small, firm, perfect breasts, wondering whether or not she was wearing a bra, and then at her perfectly flat stomach, imagining how her abs might look, to arrive at the warm, soft, oh so inviting mound between her legs, its contours clear behind the tight material of her leggings.
My mind then pretended to have an intellectual discussion as to whether any hair there would be blonde or dark. Meanwhile I shifted in my seat for reasons of comfort and modesty - I generally go commando, a habit which at this point I regretted.
