Enchantress

Her luscious tresses were pinned up into a haphazard bun. Her white denim jacket revealed just a hint of curves, her tightly rounded hips subtly peeping from underneath. Her heavy-lidded eyes twinkled through half-rimmed oblong spectacles. Her naked bee-stung pout was sensuously unassuming. She was an untouchable image of the sexy librarian fantasy... And then she shook my hand.

Her name was Sarah, and I was enamored.

She was an intern at 8TV, and a vital figure during a shoot I did over the weekend. She developed the storyline and wrote the script, and coordinated the wardrobe too. I didn’t know what to think when I first laid eyes on her: whether to desire to be her, or to just desire her.

Lusting after women is not new territory to me, but my heterosexual status has reached an all-new threat level with this particular specimen. She was next to perfect: she was good-natured and intelligent, professional yet warm, assertive yet fun. She had a great laugh. And her Canadian intonation made my toes tingle.

It would probably be the first and last time that I’ll see her, since she’s leaving back to Vancouver at the end of the month...

In a desperate frenzy this morning I Googled her name, and found her own website. Turns out she’s worked as an extra for a few big Hollywood films and has established herself as a model and thespian. Unfortunately for me (and probably her boyfriend too), I find accomplishment to be a huge turn-on.

Work has taken a back seat today, I’m dedicating it instead to a drool fest in conjunction with her picture page containing hundreds of succulent thumbnails.

I’ve been such a bad girl, and there’s only one person who can spank me. Oh the shame.