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If my husband knew the way I thought about Carl, he would have freaked. If he only knew that I tended garden in my high-cut jean shorts and tight white tank top in the hopes that Carl would be outside mowing the lawn, washing his car, or even just getting the mail. If he only knew that I bent over, intentionally pushing my ass into the air, and spreading my legs, hoping that the tiniest hint of my thick lips could be seen pushing against the rough fabric. My body begged for Carl to look over and think about sucking on me.