you’ve been under my desk all day. Quiet. Hidden. So close to my legs. While I worked. While I talked. While I crossed and uncrossed my ankles. you stayed there. Watching. My sneakers dangling inches from your face. The slow swing of my foot. you thought I didn’t know. you thought I couldn’t feel you down there. But I did. I felt your eyes. Every time my sneaker slipped halfway off my heel. Every time my toes flexed. you stayed perfectly still. Breathing quietly. Staring. Like a desperate little foot perv who couldn’t leave. Hours under my table. While I ignored you on purpose. Because I liked knowing you were there. Small. Hidden. Obsessed. And when I finally lowered my foot… and let the sole hover near your face… you didn’t move. you just stared. Waiting. Hoping. Pathetic. If you’re going to live under my desk… If you’re going to spend your whole day staring at my sneakers… Then you don’t get to just look. Come closer. Closer. That’s it. Right there. Now sniff. Slow. you’ve been waiting for this moment all day. Again. Deeper. you belong under the table. At my feet. Breathing in every movement. Every swing. Every lazy bounce of my sneaker. Ignored when I choose. Used when I decide. And you love it. you love being exactly where you are. Under my desk. At my feet. Watching. Sniffing. Obeying.
