It feels like the hottest of men have emerged from some secret land. Of course when I was single they were hidden away from the light of day. They were afraid of being eaten by dinosaurs because that is the last time I was single. Now married (but certainly not dead), I find hotties popping up everywhere; at the grocery store; coffee shop; walking past me on the street...
Their jeans fit just right, their hair is bed head tousled and they are oozing appeal like melted butter dripping off hot corn. I silently beg them not to return my look with their intense eyes or I might just erupt. Are they all male underwear models? I ask of them, “Could you take off those 501's? I think I recognize you.”
I suck in my muffin top, lower my long lashes and my thumb naturally seeks out my ring finger. Yup, wedding band is still there. No vow is broken. It's only a tall cool drink. A refreshing reminder that I have blood rushing through my body.
I don't feel guilt. I am allowed to entertain thoughts of appreciation for the beauty of the opposite sex when I come across a fine specimen. According to the Kinsey Institute, the average man thinks about sex approximately every two minutes. If sleeping hours are included that is a whopping 720 times a day. They don't need a woman of extraordinary beauty to spark their train of thought. I have heard male friends comment on the trashiest of women being good for a few minutes of fun. It only takes a revealing outfit or boobs a plenty for them to know that they are still breathing.
Today it was the officer directing traffic that made me feel like a schoolgirl. It's not typical for me to get all flustered upon spotting a man in uniform. That's not what gets my motor running. It may have been the way the morning sun beat down on him with his super cool shades. He held such power, blocking the opposing metal machines, beckoning with his hands the come hither signal. I'm not allowed to look away. I made that right hand turn with a smile. And a sigh.