Down Smith Street

I headed down the street to get a new packet of cigarettes, even after I swore that the last cigarette from my last packet was my last. I followed a guy back up Smith Street, who had a great arse. Dark blue jeans, a maroon woollen jumper and a checked shirt with the rear shirt tail hanging out as if to frame his sexy, beefy arse. You know those arses that are solid and square that compliment the curve of his hips. He had dark, thick hair cut short and olive skin. He would have been in his thirties, probably Italian, or something like that. I would have crossed the road, but his butt kept me on the same side as him following him down the street. 

Halfway down the street, for some reason, he realised his shirttail was hanging out and he tucked it in with his fingertips and I got to see his dark green undies, with thick, brand elastic. Once I’d seen the green, cotton material of his undies, I could picture it hugging his arse cheeks. He’d have had a hairy arse crack. He’d probably had that hairy patch on his lower back just above his arse, where his arse hair would fade away to nothing. 

I felt a buzz in my stomach, a certain flutter in my sensibilities, I have to say. Grrrrr! I wondered what he’d think about me perving on him? An evolved male would just think of it as a compliment. I wondered if he was an evolved male?