As she walks by, her breasts bounce gently under her thin t-shirt. Her butt jiggles tightly – her yoga pants stretched around her soft round bubble. Her hips roll, her hair sways. Her face is calm, oblivious to my gaze. She Inspires me as she is. She IS my Inspiration. I imagine us alone, her delicate little hand would rest on my lap, and feel me grow hard and strong for her. She would feel how much she Inspires me. Her eyes would light up, she would bite her lip, she would wonder what It might look like if she took It out… She would know how beautiful I think she is. I would show her with my lips on hers, on her neck, my breath deepening, blowing hot and hard on her soft sensitive skin. Her eyes would close, her flower moistens, she begins to Surrender, her hand caressing the throbbing passion she inspired. This is what she does to me. She is what she looks like. Her mind reflects her body. Her body reflects her Soul. She wants to see me strong, happy, relaxed, powerful, passionate, at my best. She despises me when I pretend to be weak, and ignore her effort to bring me up. When I focus on my goals, when I work hard, when I put my all into whatever I’m doing… She wonders what it would be like if all that masculine power was directed at Her…into Her. She pulls my attention with her Dance. It comes natural, it’s who she is. All she needs to do is walk past me, let me see her…just enough time to look her up and down, to feel my heartbeat speed up, to feel afraid and horny… And then I zero in. I interrupt her life, and tell her she Inspired me, and I want more. I want her to dance for me, to excite me, and make me want to be a better man. I want her to be proud of me, proud of herself… knowing she helped me Rise. I bring her up with me.