Harbor Cruise -5minutefreewrite

Content Warning: I don't think this is NSFW, but there's certainly...words.

For https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-730-5-minute-freewrite-sunday-prompt-harbor-cruise

Harbor cruise.

What is a harbor anyway? Do you harbor impure thoughts? Impure? No thought is impure of itself. Let it drift away like a bit of flotsam on the sea. But to harbor it is to protect it, is to keep it close and name it yours.

Samuel let the image of a nude woman flit through his mind. He admired the jeans of the woman in front of him. It didn’t matter that the shape of her body wasn’t discernible through the wallet-filled pocket and the sag of comfort, he knew what to imagine underneath, and he let the thought pass unimpeded through his visual cortex.

He did not harbor it, but he did not deny it. He did wonder if it was wrong. He wondered and felt ashamed. He tried to keep it private, but he was sure the way eyes flitted was observable. He’d seen others let their eyes linger in directions that it made no sense to linger unless they were watching what they… shouldn’t? He couldn’t tell. Or rather, he tried not to come to a conclusion about it. He didn’t harbor those thoughts, as it were.

He wondered… He thought, perhaps, if his outward self were unimpeachable. If no one could tell by the flick of his eyes, that he would, in fact, be doing no harm. If he were visibly ogling someone, well that would do harm. It would likely cause people to feel uncomfortable, perhaps even afraid. But if it were invisible…

He gave up. He shouldn’t do it. He should retrain his eyes to look where they ought. Or at least only look at things that wouldn’t cause someone to feel violated. Maybe he could train himself to have a sticker fetish. And he could stare at stickers and fantasize about stickers. Gold stickers and banana stickers and nipple stickers- oh, damn.

Maybe he could come up with not only an innocuous fetish, but an actually helpful one. Maybe he could fantasize about doing household chores. He’d wash the dishes and clean the toilet, the dirty dirty toilet. Yes, he’d scrub it, and then she’d come in to use it and- damn again.

Oh, BOOKS! Even if he read erotica, well, that was alright. Perfect. He’d read erotica, and everyone would think he was the classiest horndog in the world. Oh, except they’d know he was a horndog. And then if he glanced at them, even without any sexual fantasies, they’d think he was fantasizing.

Oh boy, he was getting too in his head. Maybe this wasn’t the way.

He’d simply have to do his best to be honest and engaged and conscientious, and keep his fantasies reserved for private alone time or time with consensual partners. He’d retrain his brain to think about sex during sex time, but not during boring meeting time. He’d think about coffee instead, hot, steamy coffee that was waiting for him to close the coffee room door and lock it so it could be just the two of them alone, and he’d pour a little creamer in her, and taste her with the tip of his tongue, and if she was too hot, he’d blow ever so gently across her, watch her quiver and ripple, asking him to drink her.