She grew on me rapidly. There was a vivacity and a readiness about her, a willingness, an eagerness, an obvious disdain for convention that always turns me on, especially in spectacularly cute women who make an effort to walk next to me when I'm leading a tour.

She was short and tan and fit with wiry dark hair, a Sephardic face, and eyes that I remember gazing into, but whose color escapes me now. They were soul windows, not decoration, but next time, and there will be a next time, I will make it a point to note and remember their hue.

She didn't walk next to me the whole tour but when she did I felt a physical attraction, a spiritual connection, a bolt of energy between us that lingered even when she was not there. I do not feel that way often, do not immediately get a sense that "I will fuck this woman before I die and I will fuck her good." I've had "I want to know this woman," "I'd like to fuck this woman," and "I've known this woman in a previous life and I'd like to fuck her again" but this was different.

At first I ignored it. The person who'd made the arrangement for the tour was from out of town, out in some suburb I never go to, and the odds of seeing any of the people on the tour casually or finding time to fuck one of them casually or seriously seemed remote, since I assumed they all lived near each other. But as we were passing by a building near the park where I like to hang out woman-watching on a Sunday afternoon, the one I was interested in pointed the building out to the rest of the group as her home and both hope, and my cock, sprang eternal.

I pictured us striking up an email conversation, starting with her "thank you again, I enjoyed your tour very much."

Followed by my "You're quite welcome. I very much enjoyed your company."

Leading eventually to her "Would you like to meet me in the park some time?"

And concluding with my "Absolutely. How about tomorrow?"

The meeting in the park would be short and sweet. She would ask me if I'd like to see her apartment.

I would say "Very much," and follow her across the street and up the elevator and into her apartment where she would turn as if to kiss me.

Whereupon I'd say "You do realize I'm married, right? It's not a deterrent to me, but I want to make sure it doesn't bother you."

She'd say "Yes, I know, and it doesn't bother me at all," and then she'd kiss me.

I'd kiss her back, and within about 30 seconds we'd be making out naked on her giant apartment bed like a couple of crazed minks, and within another 30 minutes we'd be fucking like even crazier minks with her on her back and then on top of me and then in front of me on all fours where we'd both come screaming and collapse exhausted and happy and holding each other and I'd have a new friend for life.

It was a great picture. I held it. I edited it. I ran it back and forth. I mulled it over after the tour as I was walking back toward home.

And then it hit me.

I'd forgotten to give her my card with my email address.

So now it's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting in the park across the street from her building, watching all the women, hoping one of them is her.