Windmills

If the weather permits, i usually like to spend my lunch hour outside, sitting on a bench that positions me in a well-trafficked corridor of this bustling part of the city. I constantly scan the currents of pedestrians for the female components dressed in their flashiest, hippest urban professional wear. For some reason that i deem remarkably masochistic, these girls who do more walking than their suburban counterparts universally insist on wearing high heels. I don't complain. I've always enjoyed watching how a female's anatomy responds to the hitch an elevated heel manifests in their step. But these are mere distractions from the real psychology operating in my head.

I see a girl sitting across from me on a bench, and i feel an immediate compulsion to dominate. I want to grab her stare with my eyes, draw out a long sigh from her mouth as she feels herself slowly slip into trance. She may, in the middle of this illusion, decide to get up. It doesn't matter. The next one will come along soon. Sometimes i feel almost clinical, like i'm observing them through glass. Happy to do so, i'm taking detailed notes of their behavior, noting how similar they act as a gender, learning from their body language, recognizing patterns. I find that i can get quite lost in these examinations.

But why females? I'm very very curious as to why the dominance of the female body is so enthralling. It's not simply because they have a cunt. Or tits. I'm not even thinking of that when i glance at them and quickly commute them to a sentence of intense bondage. Rather i'm admiring their small wrists, their lithe necks, the way they can press their chins into their shoulders to indicate interest. I'm imagining the sum of all of these parts bound and pleading. And it happens a hundred times a day.

The girl behind the Starbucks counter who hands me my coffee. I smile at her. I seek to make her blush. I'll read her name off her nametag, tell her how beautiful i find it, then just grin at her. I know, as i'm doing this, i want to hold a momentary place in her day like a shudder, a tingle, a chill.

The girl i pass on the sidewalk, turning the corner instead of keeping straight like me. She'll flip around briefly to see if i've stopped shadowing her, but not out of fear. She sensed that i was observing her from behind, non-threateningly, and yet, still somewhat predatorily. She briefly considers playing the game.

I'll walk the platform of the subway. Travelling to a point where i know i need to stand, and i'll pass a girl waiting for the opposite train, going in the opposite direction. She'll turn her face towards me, see me smiling, and she'll bashfully offer me a smile back. A genuine smile. A smile that says "Alright, so you caught me this moment. So, i'll smile back, but only because i'm going in the opposite direction."

Or the girl who comes onto the train, once i've caught mine, at the next stop. She looks around before she sits. My antennae lift into the air. I sense a female presence. I peer at her, waiting for her eyes to fall upon me as she scans her immediate vicinity. I hold her gaze, until she sits down and recoils into herself. We will do this several times. I will keep my head turned at her, waiting for her to look my way, only to sustain the stare. Not letting it fizzle. Making her stand behind her glance and not back away from it. The intensity of the energy that builds here between two strangers is incredible. But it goes nowhere.

I do not want to dominate the entire female gender. Nor is my mind conjuring up these images because i want a conquest between the sheets. Yet, my body's reaction to these girls seems to betray that notion. My dominant side asserts itself as if it were the one in control, not i, the consulate. It is hard to describe, but the dominant facet of my personality doesn't want sex as prominently as it wants control. Control of the beautiful female entity. Control over me. It happens, constantly. A hundred times a day. I'm surrounded by this feminine energy that i want to, in small ways, conquer - to saturate it with my desires, my needs, my impulses.