Shirts

I have this thing about shirts...or rather the taking off of shirts. A shirt may be removed in many an exciting way. And it is the removal of the shirt from a woman that I am thinking of.

A shirt may be slowly unbuttoned, slowly and carefully, almost hesitantly, one button after another, revealing more and more of the body beneath it. Then when the buttons are undone, when still, nothing is really shown, then the shirt is opened, slowly revealing the body. In my mind there is never a bra under the shirt. Opening a shirt means revealing your breasts. Then it can be slid over your shoulders, revealing them...exposing you.

Oh, I am getting silly. This kind of things are important in my fantasies. It is often the details, the sense of fabric gliding over skin, the sense of cool air on your body, that make me tick.

Or a shirt may be removed in another way. It may be torn open. Someone pressing you into a corner or against a wall, taking hold of your shirt and tearing it open, suddenly, in one move exposing your breasts. Violently exposing you, driven by a wild desire, an urge to look at your body, to be able to touch it, to take command of it.