On the bus ride home from work I could feel a tightness growing in my chest. I glanced around, wondering if anyone else could see the words on the screen. Knowing as I did that they couldn’t, and they weren’t interested in looking, and the heat rising to my cheeks was probably not nearly as visible as it felt. But still. But still.

When I got home I found it hard to keep my pants on. And my hands out of them.

I want to be one of these stories. I want to be all of these stories.