Breakfast Date

It's loud here, crowded, a bustle of plates and servers and guests and steaming trays of food... but I notice none of it. Its mere periphery around the boy across the table from me.

I'm simply watching him, predator-still. He is pretty, femmey, with lovely blue-black hair shading his eyes as he raises them to me, blushes, looks away.

I simply watch him, and he squirms, darts another look at me with those lovely, nervous black eyes, and drops his head again, twisting a little away.

He is so uncomfortable, so afraid... and I can feel his arousalterrorjoy from here. It's lovely- I want to sip the scent of his fear like a fine wine, let it rest on my palate with a coppery tang like blood, and savor the aftertaste of the arousal which follows in its wake.