Just a small squeeze

You catch yourself staring at that ass before anything else registers in your brain.

You want to reach through the screen, feel the weight of it against your palms, fingers pressing into the give of warm skin. You know exactly what a small squeeze would do — that sharp intake of breath, the involuntary arch, the way bodies betray what mouths won't say.

You keep scrolling back to this image, each time landing in the same place, held there by the same pull. You are not imagining things. You are simply paying attention to something worth noticing.