Fingers

He rode the jeepney and took the seat right across mine. Tall and fair; averagely built; he was exactly my type! I couldn’t help it. I stared.

Good thing luck was feeling merciful that time. I was wearing my ultra-dark sun glasses so at least he didn’t notice I was (for lack of a more descriptive term) gawking.

He wasn’t strikingly handsome, really… but I couldn’t help but trace the curve of his bushy brows, watch the sparkle in his dark brown eyes, the sunlight hitting the tip of his pert nose, and imagine how soft those pink lips would feel… no… not really handsome. Some may even consider him to be just average, but I definitely think he’s cute (otherwise I wouldn’t even bother trying to write about him).

Then he fished his phone out of his pocket. That was when I noticed his fingers, his long and tapered and soft-looking fingers.

I rarely look at a man’s fingers and I never considered fingers to be a man’s sexiest body part. I don’t know what or why but I was fixated with his. There was something oozing with sexiness in those fingers, really painfully, achingly sexy.

In the next few minutes all I could see were his fingers and I felt like nothing else existed…

Then my wiener twitched…

Snap! Back to reality, I almost missed my stop!

Then with one final glance at those sexy digits, I got off the jeepney, feeling a little weird. That was one heck of a ten-minute ride going home.