The mind of a...

He watched her painting the view outside on the patio. Her hair was gilmmering in the sunshine and sweat glistened on her arms and legs. Her long long, exposed legs...
There's nothing sexier than a woman in a man's shirt, he mused to himself... and there's something especially attractive about someone drawn into their own little passionate world... An artist, why of all people he had to find himself an artist?
He just stood in the shadows, fantasizing about what he could do to her, what he would do to her... touch her... tease her... taunt her... torture her...
She wiped the paint on the white shirt... for some reason this annoyed him. Irritated him. The perfect picture, now tainted. Red paint, white shirt..
Red paint..
White shirt..
Red paint...
White shirt..