half a world

Across the room I saw, or, maybe you saw me first, but it’s not a competition, is it? I didn’t stare, but you did, I think, when I caught your eye I thought I saw you flinch. Did you flinch? Did I?

I didn’t notice you at first, so many people here milling around, moving from left to right across my field of vision but from where I sat I was almost face to face with you, albeit across almost the entire length of the room. At times there were too many bodies in between to know for sure if you were there at all, moved or gone, but then they’d part like a holy sea and there you were, your mouth moved with silent words as no doubt mine did to you, from where you were.

Chatter, chatter everywhere but the only words I heard were form those beside me chattering away about this, about that, and probably about the other, whatever the other might be at that point of the conversation. It was a conversation I was only half-involved, mainly for politeness purposes as I surveyed the bodyscape before me, its shifting colours and moods, its sounds and aromas. It was like trying to tease out a statistic from a graph of a thousand coloured sine waves undulating from X to Y.

I am sure you saw me first, though I couldn’t swear to it as the first glimpse of you that caught my attention you were clearly engrossed in whatever the person on your left was telling you, then laughing, not too animatedly but enough to make them comfortable, even though I could tell you were not entirely so. It was as though, like me, you were here against you will, not in any antagonistic way but clearly, again like me, perhaps you’d rather be somewhere else.

We both tilted on an axis at the same time and our eyes, having evaded each other’s for what seemed like half the evening for whatever reason, shyness, wariness, defensiveness, our eyes found themselves inside each other’s. I froze. I think you did too, I felt my face grow warmer, although it was already too warm in here, I therefore felt assured I could put it down to that and that alone and not, as I suspected a sense of embarrassment at being caught in the act of eyeing someone perhaps I shouldn’t, a total stranger.

It is what you were, are, a total stranger. I didn’t, don’t know you, and likewise, as far as I knew anyway.

I noticed your build from your bearing, the way you held yourself even sat on the bar stool, how your face showed interest in other’s words, how relaxed you were in the company you kept. You oozed a confidence and it certainly helped that you had remarkable eyes, inquisitive and lively and the clearest, cleanest blue I’d ever seen that I could remember. Even from this distance their light watery quality resembling that of a mountain stream was obvious which is how you caught me staring. You were right, I was, but I didn’t need to tell you that, you knew. I was trying to understand his eyes, the almost total lack of colour with just a suggestion of blue. You could be an alien, that’s if aliens have such eyes, or even have eyes, having never met one.

Reflexively I looked away as soon as I noticed your eyes locked onto mine, effectively waking me out of my temporary trance. I laughed at something someone said even though I’d no idea as I hadn’t been listening. I did this to hide my nosiness, but at the same time swiftly switched my eyes back to him without turning my head thinking I was being suitably furtive just to see, to see if you were still looking. You weren’t. Had I imagined it? No, and that was confirmed when I caught you returning a glance. It felt like someone was holding a naked flame against my cheek, I was burning up.

I snapped myself out of it. Surely this wasn’t the way adults behave, pretending we aren’t looking when clearly we both knew we were. But it was exciting. Like we were sharing some illicit secret even though we weren’t; or, were we? I know this because I felt that rush of blood around my body triggering nerve-endings in very specific places. I crossed my legs sitting there in my black strapless mini-dress and turned my attention yet again to the conversation I was supposed to be a part of.

I didn’t last long before the unbearable tension of not looking over got the better of me and behaving like some clumsy spy, I sat back to survey the room with no particular interest in the room except for you. My eyes passed over you again and my whole body reacted unexpectedly, in a way suggesting more than mere curiosity. You weren’t just another guy. You weren’t looking. Oh well, I thought, you were still nice to look at. Then, as I turned back to my group in a fleeting pass I found your eyes again, not just looking but staring, fixed and beneath a small surreptitious smile. What a smile, I thought. I found myself smiling too as I dropped my head slightly so as not to give it away. Obviously, that just gave it away.

By now my body was giving me clear signals that I liked what I saw, but did you, did you like what you were seeing? Insecurity is the enemy of opportunity. Considering some of the women among your group were quite model-like, tall too, while I was small, 5’3”, and without just obvious leggy assets. Then again I was sat down, although eventually I’d have to stand up, if for nothing else to go to the loo.

This gap between us started to feel like half a world away. All we had bridging it was our eyes, and perhaps some invisible chemical streaming from our bodies to meet in the middle and do all manner of unspeakable things.

I sat side-on to where you were, you know this of course, keeping a respectable distance and without our own bubbles. While the rest of the bar got on with itself we had started to share something intangible. I felt a warmth inside my thighs as I watched your hands, how they moved when you spoke, no doubt emphasising whatever you were conveying to those around you, mostly unconsciously so. I kept a drink in one hand so as to at least in part control my limbs which I felt were by now straining at the metaphorical leash. Among your well-trained movements I thought I saw a little wave in my direction, tiny, almost imperceptible, certainly fleeting and anyone not looking wouldn’t have had to time to notice. I was looking, I noticed. I raised my fingers into a similar wave from where they rested in my lap around my drink.

I suppose we had just said hello, in our own way. We had committed that first step, open acknowledgment, though only open enough for us to see. I was beginning to feel much warmer now, even across my bare shoulders; this was more than simply the temperature generated from the room. I felt the muscles of my legs, my thighs closing and relaxing, making me sit even more upright. I had also noticed the top of my holdup skin-coloured stockings were partly visible. Not surprising considering the dress was short, although not obscenely so. I wasn’t planning to meet anyone tonight and wore it for me, because I like wearing it, and anyway, I hadn’t met anyone, not as such, as we hadn’t even broached the chasm between, not a step.

I found myself running my hand along my thigh on the side that faced him. I wasn’t thinking but was just suddenly aware of it. I stopped. But I found once I did I was compelled to do it again, slowly moving my hand up and down, it was relaxing, relieving some of the tension that had seeped into my legs and hips. You were looking, you were watching. I knew it, you’d already made it clear for some reason I was interesting enough to share secret signs with, as that’s what they felt like being that none of our respective group of companions noticed.

I suddenly had an urge to walk right over and just throw myself at you like a snowball: a very hot snowball by then as I was by now feeling the kind of flooding warmth that comes before you know you’re going to be stripped naked. In fact, I was almost feeling a little naked as there were moments when your eyes felt like they were inside my dress, even your hands, inside my clothes and working their way into all my hidden places which were by now experiencing more than a little arousal.

I wanted to touch myself. Another urge I had to stifle. I wanted to slip my hand under my dress and raise it up an inch at a time. I wanted to feel my hand between my thighs, to touch, to relieve that tingling that was by now screaming: take me, have me. I adjusted my position, this was the best I could do, and ensured my dress still sat against me as it should be, not for any other reason than to have something to do with my hands

I wanted to kneel down in front of you and unfasten that brown leather belt you’re wearing, unbutton your trousers and open them up and watch what emerges from the folds. I wanted to see how proud you were right now, at this moment, if at all. I just hoped you were.

I wanted to pull down your shorts and see for myself, touch for myself, taste for myself. I wanted to hear your voice when I first touched it with my lips. I didn’t even know what you sound like. We were too far away to hear each other amidst the babble of so many other conversations.

I wanted to feel it slide into my mouth and touch the back of my throat, the trickle of precum would be bliss. I wanted to feel how hard you could get and then stand and hope you leaned over and kissed me from your, I am guessing, 6’1”? I wanted you to lift my dress, pull down my panties, cup your hands over my buttocks, lift me and hold me against a wall, your kneading opening my legs for you, my now moist thighs ready and very willing, the rush of blood having prepared me for you to guide yourself into me, opening me, me letting you in, me having no choice. This was inevitable, from that first glance we were on this path.

I felt a growing need to go to the loo, not for that but for privacy as my fantasy, my needs, my desires were growing out of proportion and if I didn’t then I would in actuality be kneeling before you right there and then. I wondered, did you feel it too, did you know what I was thinking, did you want what I wanting too?

I told myself you did and your eyes certainly convinced me of that. I wanted you to follow me and then once inside a cubicle to take me, to use me, to make me, to realise the outcome of those conscious and unconscious signs we’d been sharing across a crowded room. I wanted to feel you inside me, all the way, natural and bare, feel your hips bang against mine, feel the rawness, hear your breath, feel the effort, I wanted you to unzip my dress and pull it down along with my bra and take each nipple into your mouth. I wanted to feel you there, everywhere, surrender to my impulses and for you to do the same.

I wanted to feel you growing, feel you throbbing, feeling that pulsating then feel the effort you make holding back until you can’t any longer then feel your release filling my soul, my needs, our needs, our bodies shaking, trembling, and then collapsing.

Your eyes found mine and my eyes found yours, for now they wonder what might be and hope before the night is done it won’t be merely what might have been.

© Emmaleela

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