He caught me by the throat and half dragged me off my knees, licking from my collar bone to my temple and then attacking my lower lip with his teeth.

My blood felt like boiling water, roaring through my veins. A growl formed in his throat as I did not move as quickly as he wanted, and I hurried to correct myself.

In my haze of lust, I noticed his handcuff tattoo had safety catches, and were not the police issue type.

I wondered if that was intentional, and suspected it was.

All I needed to say was two words, and everything would stop.

I didn't say a damned thing.

~

"You know what would be really hot?" he asked. "You, in a Star Trek tshirt that's two sizes too small." I could see him in my mind, laying back on his bed, eyes blinking behind bottle-bottom glasses. He has a beautiful body for someone who spends all his time sitting in front of computers, and I don't think he knows it.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. He is such a dork, but that's why I like him.

I was laughing even harder two days later when a courier showed up at my door. He ended every sentence with 'darlin', and was amused by my gales of laughter when I realized what the package contained.

One Star Trek tshirt.

Size medium.

~

"Rosemary," he whined to my voicemail. "Why aren't you there?"

"Where are you?"

I couldn't help but smile, though a little wryly. I had expected him to stop calling months ago.

"Why aren't you here?"

I deleted the message, but I sent him a text, telling him I was working.

~

"You should come hang out," he messaged me. "I'll make you a white russian with soy milk." He knows I can't handle milk. He can't either.

"I'm busy in the early part of the week," I say, almost relieved that I am.

This one, he is too much like a drug. He is like needle straight into my brain. A little bit now and then is fun, but too much will do horrible things.

Addiction to him is a terrible thing.

I don't want that to happen again.

But then...he is one of the only men patient enough to satisfy me.

And oh, to feel those rough palms on my skin...

~

The young black man touched the seat of my bike as I picked it up, making me look around.

"Do you need a hand?" he asked frankly. He had no trace of an accent, and dressed like a reasonably well off university student.

"I'm okay," I say. "Thanks."

"Sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure," I say, and smile at him. He smiles back, a little admiringly I think, nods and continues down the stairs.

I appreciated his gesture more than he'll probably ever know.

It felt...entirely chivalrous, without ulterior motive or contempt, and that is so rare these days.

~

Sitting outside the theatre, waiting for the run to start. I've just locked up my bike, and I take a seat next to my favorite sound guy.

Oh, have I a crush on him.

Big guy, in his early thirties. Dark hair, straight dark eyebrows so perfect they look painted on, thick eyelashes and smiling eyes.

He's smoking, and looking a little awkward, as he is apt to do. He definitely does not know how attractive he is.

I chat him up a little. I talk about the show, and he gets less awkward.

I show him my messy shirt where I'd brushed up against the set, getting wet glue across my breasts in embarrassing patterns and places. I laugh, telling him about people I'd run in to, wearing this messy shirt.

He laughs, his eyes smiling. Somebody on my other side says something that catches my attention for a second, and I glance over.

Fingers brush my leg from knee to mid thigh.

My heart leaps into my throat and my muscles jump.

"You have lots of glue on your pants, too," he says, pulling his hand back. He looks awkward again. I smile at him, and touch the glue on my pants, my heart beating madly.

"Yeah," I say, as I mentally pummel myself for jumping.

He probably thinks I think he's atrocious now.

Ye gods, I want to touch that man in his no place.

~

All the men in my life.

Some are strangers. Some are not.

Some I have known for years, and some, just a minute in passing.

My heart, it still hurts from it's last battering.

That was years ago, I know, but I wish it would stop hurting. I don't notice it much anymore, but there is still evidence that it's there.

Some day, my prince will come.

.

Rosie.

Before&After