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Don't Call Me Kevie

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Throbbing veins, sweltering heat and my usual hijinks
My Tree thanks to slodwick
So I get to work today. It's a normal day, other than it being an IG2 day, so you all know I'm going to be an idiot. But - can you imagine just how much of an idiot I am capable to being.

For starters I must tell you - IG2 has had a haircut. I have been deluding myself; I thought that perhaps my lust for the boy was due to his hair. (I have a thing about dark curly hair) But no, he looks way better with the trim. He looks like a grownup(!). So there I am coping with this development and trying to act like a normal human being and making sure that the words coming out of my mouth ("[IG2], how are you today?" are not the words inside my brain "Would you mind awfully if I just buried my nose in your armpit and enjoyed your odor?". And I am doing a rip-snorter of a job. I was impressing myself with ..er, me.

And then, it was high noon.

It's getting to summer here in Australia, and it is already quite warm. I had to go outside to pulverise and cap a sample, and out in the prep shed was IG2. And he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Sweet baby jane.

I have this huge insaitable unquenchable lust for arm veins. Those veins in a mans forearm, standing out against sun-darkened skin. Dancing a partnership by themselves, showing strength and virility and sweat and war and love and sunday mornings and friday nights in their trail to and from the heart. A life source. It doesn't matter what a man looks like - if his forearms are out in public, there is a strong chance you will find me on the floor, all completely loopy and staring at that small perfection. If I could spend an hour licking arm veins on an attractive man I would never need anything more.

So IG2's veins were showing. His veins were showing, he had a splendiforous haircut, and half-turned from me, so the back of the overalls were slightly taut of his young buttocks and his arm veins were showing. I stumbled, recovered my sense of gravity before he could see me and then proceeded to walk into a pulveriser. For those who don't know, a pulveriser is the size of a large stove. And is the colour yellow. Bright yellow. A blind person could not miss such a thing.

But I walked into it. I am a tool.

And not only am I a tool, I am a great big silly Minda of a tool. The rest of the day I was utterly useless. I kept dropping things. And not just insignificant things: the first thing I dropped was a standard onto a folder. Liquid all over paperwork. And then I dropped a sample on myself. Acid and water and sample all over my pants. In that awkward spot where it looks like you've 'had an accident'. I cleaned up that spill fairly well, but it left this amazing green stain.

Imagine if I had really injured myself; can you even begin to think how I would explain a broken leg? "Oh, I got distracted by IG2's veins. They are pretty."

I had a conversation with him as well, where I didn't trip over my tongue. We were talking about something inconsequential and I said he was a rather unique individual (read: You're wonderful. Would you like to go to bed with me?? Well, maybe not.), and he thanked me and said it was the nicest thing I could say. (And then I thought about licking his left arm from the top of his index finger, down a vein and kiss his elbow)

I need to do something about this crush I have on him. Especially if he's going to go around with his sleeves rolled up like that. That should be illegal.

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Ohhh, sweetie. HUGS. I sympathize, I really do. I am also giggling my ass off at your retelling of the tale.

Funnily enough, the first thought to go through my head after running into the pulveriser was "Oh damn. The girls on LJ are gonna laugh about this."

But arm veins=pretty. They are the shiny thing that distracts me so.

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