Those Eyes

Those eyes. Clear and sooth­ing like pools of still water beck­on­ing for me to wade in. And yet, only a few inches below the sur­face a mir­ror of stain­less steel is reflect­ing my own image back.

So few even know that the mir­ror is there. They are con­tent with tak­ing what is imme­di­ately given to them with­out ques­tion. But I ques­tion. I poke and prod and I want to under­stand. A few inches depth is not enough for me. It will never be enough.

I know how to get beneath that mir­ror, that shin­ing armor pro­tect­ing the vul­ner­a­ble soft­ness under­neath. All I have to do is knock. All I have to do is to whis­per, “Open up, girl; it’s me,” and I am let in. I am let into the warmth behind the stain­less steel mir­ror just behind those eyes.

Those eyes. Pupils cov­er­ing their irises mak­ing those eyes black. Dart­ing between my eyes and my lips, search­ing for me, search­ing for answers to silent questions.

Am I safe with you?

Will you catch me?

Hair plas­tered on damp fore­head. A slight gasp when I grasp that del­i­cate neck and pull those eyes closer. Eye­lids close briefly in antic­i­pa­tion when I grasp that del­i­cate throat with my other hand.

I squeeze.

I squeeze and I nuz­zle my nose against that soft cheek. I lis­ten to breath begin­ning to wheeze. I look into those black eyes and see my wel­come. I squeeze harder.

The wheez­ing turns into one del­i­cate gur­gle and then stops alto­gether. And I search out those eyes locked on me and I kiss those soft, parted lips deeply.

It is… dif­fer­ent, kiss­ing with­out feel­ing breath against my lips and nose and skin. Kiss­ing with­out smelling that sweet scent. It is… quiet and serene like the muf­fled real­ity after new pow­dered snow­fall on a cold bit­ing day.

And those eyes are fol­low­ing me. And I feel a trem­ble in that thigh touch­ing mine and clar­ity strikes me. At that moment, every­thing is mine. Every­thing is there for my tak­ing. Even her plea­sure. Even with only my hands around that del­i­cate throat.

I smile slightly and whis­per, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Eyes widen and lock with mine and I reas­sure gen­tly, “I know you can do it. Come for me.”

A moment of per­fect still­ness where I hold my breath in sym­pa­thy while search­ing those eyes for the obe­di­ence I know will emerge.

Then, with only the sound of the ruf­fle of fab­ric mov­ing, that lovely back arches, those per­fect breasts push against me, and those lovely hips grind the air. Silently, almost eerily; no squeals, no gasps, no moans, no panting.

Just pure sen­sa­tion. Just pure beauty.

Just per­fect.

And after­ward, after allow­ing breath, after giv­ing air back, those pupil-​eclipsed irises still lock on me while that chest heaves those breasts at me. And the sweet scent of breath envelops me when I kiss those soft, wel­com­ing lips.

I ten­derly stroke hair plas­tered on damp fore­head away. I whis­per, “Good girl. You did every­thing I wanted from you.” And those eye­lids finally come down and stay down and that cheek finally comes to rest on my chest and those breasts strain against me in a deep sigh of contentment.

“You did every­thing right.”