It's not an obsession, or compulsion, or any of the various terms you hear tossed around by armchair psychologists. Most of them are in their twenties. That age is a distant memory for me, and while I don't feel any envy or regret, I'm also happy to be done with that part of my life.

Except for her.

She was gorgeous in that way that defies description. Not particularly pretty, or thin. She didn't have those wonderful breasts that seem to defy gravity. In fact, most people would (and did) call her plain, boring, or other, less complimentary appelations. But not me. I knew her.

Her physical attributes notwithstanding, she was the sexiest, most intense person I've ever met. Where some people have eyes that pierce right through you, her eyes seemed to grab you, twist you around, look inside your darkest corners, and then gently set you back down. She was intense in the way that a perfect spring day can be: honest, clear, and entirely t...

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