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There's a construction site next to this upper middle class neighborhood where the homes of my future neighbors are only partially fabricated. It's desolate and dark; musky and still wet from the recent rainfall. One can smell the sawdust and the mildew of the wooden frames. The foundations haven't yet been laid down, and the ground is damp. My feet sink halfway to my ankles with faint squishing sounds. "What am I doing out here anyway?", I ask myself. Simple. My curiousity. Something has driven me here, and I won't stop until I find out. Part of my instinct says I should leave, but I've gone too far.

My heart starts to beat faster, and the wind ruffles my auburn hair. I'm scared out of my mind, yet my feet keep prodding forward. The night would be clear, but for some scant clouds obscuring the moon, and enshrouding everything in blinding black. The fact that I don't even know where I'm going rouses my sense of adventure, and instead of turning around, it forces me even further.

I stop and tell myself how stupid and dangerous it is here, and my nipples get hard at the thought. I look down, and see them poking through the fabric of my shirt, and conciously try to smoothe them out with the palm of my hand. The warmth makes them tingle. I tell myself it's the cold weather making them hard, but I feel like I'm being watched. As a result I shudder, and can't stop them from getting harder. This time I settle for pulling the two halves of the button-up shirt together as if to keep warm. ...

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