Sexeteria

But it was your eyes watching for my reaction that gave him away.

It was your eyes that I looked away from shyly, when I said, yes, that might be the wisest thing to do. Pretending to be calm.

As we walked out of the theater lobby, it was his body that held open the door for me, but it was your palm I felt lightly touch the small of my back, guiding me through, onto the dark street.

His arm hailed the cab. And it was his arm that removed itself politely, nervously onto his lap to make room for me on the seat as I moved in, seemingly innocently close. His body language saying, “Trust me” and “I’ll be good.” But it was your outer thigh that I let every dangerous swerve of the cab bring my own thigh closer to, until we were touching, thighs brushing, pressing, just barely, over and over. His hands, kept nervously in his lap. Your arm, skimming against my side, just feeling the hint of the curve of my breast. His eyes, focused on my face as he attempted to make conversation to distract himself. Your eyes, glancing down to see more.

At his studio, his voice nervously offering things. Coffee, water, wine, TV, music, book…a big, chaste, well-worn band t-shirt to sleep in, so I didn’t have to mess up my dress. And then suddenly your voice, sending shivers through all the comfort offerings, suggesting I might be more comfortable with the bed than on the couch.

It was to your voice that I said, yes, that sounded better.

It was he who suggested that he turn off the light before I undressed, so I didn’t have to be embarrassed. So he couldn’t see me change. And it was your eyes I felt watching the outlines of my body in the dark room, taking off my stockings, garter, undoing my dark hair so it fell loose around my shoulders. Your eyes I felt burning on my skin as they watched me unzip my black dress, quickly…letting you see for just a moment what it would be like…a blur of glowing white body, the arch of a back, arms raised, a hint of full breasts lifting, before the t-shirt dropped down to obscure it all.

It was he who was lying motionless in the bed, chest bare, but with boxers on, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. Turned on his side toward me, with his eyes pretending to be closed. It was his body that I got in next to, me wearing his white t-shirt and my black panties—a thin barrier of chastity. Me turning on my side, my back to him, his front to me, but very, very far away. Making him feel he had to be good.

It was you I could feel burning next to me, wanting me, making me wet.

I waited until he fell asleep.

And when he was gone, it was you I started touching.