Mystery Man

Man look at that guy. Look at the way he walks. It's a clumsy swagger- controlled slightly. He walks like he has no worries or cares. He's just a part of the world, so fluidly, curly hair and all. I can't see his face, being behind him, but I imagine a languid smile gently pushing up his cheeks. His eyes full of joy and fire. His longish curly hair bounces so slightly with his carefree stride. It's very dark blonde with brown. Mostly brown.

I can tell just from the look of his backside that he's a sexy man. I hesitate to say man, since he can't be older than 22. That's the good thing about seeing someone on campus. They're probably between ages 18-23. Those are the beginnings of the best years of your life. Life begins at 21, I firmly believe. I'm 21 and invincible and ready to taste the sweets and the sours this world will throw upon me.
I feel the urge to tackle him. Just to touch him and feel his weight under my own. I can't think of anything sweeter than skin pressing on skin- even if it is between his black button down shirt. I imagine how he would smell- fresh, but exotic. A musky, manly aroma that brings the mind to images of high style society and the very brinks of freedom. That's it! He reeks of freedom. His dark trousers are fitted; they do not flutter with the breeze created by his muscular thighs. They hug his ass so gently. I can't help but want to grab out. I'm about 20 feet behind him fighting the urge to run to catch up to this mystery man.
His shoes are what seal the deal for me. They were black leather dress shoes. But on him, they looked as comfortable and in place as loafers. I smile to myself. I can't help but be so intrigued by this creature I've never seen before.
His fancy-casual look. His luscious glory that I would love to run my fingers though- all this was delicious.
But what made me decide to begin my journey to follow the mystery man was his undeniable air of complete freedom.


I lost him. It's that inevitable beautiful pain when I know my search for salvation starts over again. We parted ways at the classroom. He in 128, I in 130. After the class, I had lost him. My sorrow and pain- my agony being cut newly into my skin. Into my eyes. I search for him again. Starting like working through an equation. Always a clockwork method of searching for him.