Your Eyes

As we debussed, you looked at me, turned up your collar and said, “Damn it’s cold.” Then you said, “I need to look at you.” Or maybe you only thought it… I’ve never been sure. All I know is that I was overcome with this inexplicable compulsion to reveal myself to you. As I grabbed your hand and pulled you around the corner, a scandalized inner voice screamed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

To this day, I can’t explain how my course was so recklessly altered. One minute I was headed into the depot to buy a Coke, and the next I was offering up my sex as some sort of venereal down payment. It’s as though the details of that moment had already been written and I was just turning the page.

The thing I remember the most about you is your dark, emotional eyes. I wanted… no, needed them on me. Our surroundings – the idling bus, the cigarette-butt littered pavement, the unwelcoming fluorescent station – receded the moment I looked into those eyes. If anyone was near when I pulled you around the corner, I wasn’t aware of them because I was lost in your eyes. Had I glanced away for even a moment, the connection would have been broken and I would have followed the procession of disheveled riders into the station. Had I never looked into your eyes in the first place, I’d have replied simply, “yeah, sure is cold.” and smiled indulgently.

I was so wet that when I slipped off my panties, that the Nevada night air gripped my pussy like a cool hand. I saw your pupils dilate and could feel your gaze inside me. It was then that I knew I needed your cock inside me as well.