Holiday glimpse in a riverside village. A woman approaches with two small boys. Late 30s, early 40s. Not pretty but an aura that attracts attention. The aura is strength and purpose. Sexual although she may not know it. Dark hair cut in a tousled bob, short shapeless charcoal gray dress to mid-thigh, flat chest, sturdy bare legs and feet in flipflops. I guess she's got nothing on under the dress but knickers. Her legs and feet draw my gaze, their whiteness contrasting with the dark dress. Although she is dressed, the impression she gives is one of nudeness. Her feet are quite large which I normally do not like in a woman. But these feet fascinate me and they complement the muscular shapeliness of her thighs and calves which I do like. She wants to cross the road, scans the traffic, grasps one boy tightly by the shoulder, pushes the other in the small of the back and thrusts them across and this redoubles my attention. Her gestures and walk exude authority and the boys submit innocently, unaware of the erotic charge of this exercise of female power. Probably unaware, I think, but will some memory of it lodge in their subconscious to resurface later in life as a need for sexual domination by some strong woman. Will they succumb to the desire or like me resist it, park it secretly in the delicious world of fantasy where all dreams come true. They reach the other side of the road and I see they are heading for an ice cream stand. The server does not come at once. The boys wait patiently. The woman prowls around them, not impatiently but with a nervous, predatory energy as if she needs to keep her body and limbs and feet in motion. I know that later, I will remember and savour all this when I am masturbating.