The Story Of The Eye

The look in his eyes was too intense. It was like staring at a rock hurling towards you. And that wet shine from the streetlight.

All at once, she gasped, so real was the image in her head. Head tilting towards the ceiling, eyes closed, mouth open, she saw herself. Hair damp with sweat, breathing coming in heavy gasps while a hand pushed a wet, glistening sphere over her soft, flawless skin. The dark hand left a trail of moisture which tickled in the worst way while it evaporated. The curve of her waist, the arched spine, each curve she’d ever appreciated in herself was being pressed against this object of intense sensation. She imagined her arms buckling, so exhausted from feeling she was. Unable to form a coherent sentence, she mumbled syllables that didn’t sound like words.

Then the fingers. Hands rolled her onto her back, and she took a deep breath, desperately. The air was cool up here, instead of being trapped between her and the bed, reused and warm. She felt fingers trace over her shoulders, and vaguely remembered that she should be doing something back, instead of just lying here like an idiot. But she couldn’t think far enough to move when he was running his fingers over the curve of her breasts, over the bend in her waist, the small line of fuzz which ran down after her belly button.

Her hips jerked upwards as his lips grazed the smooth skin stretched over her hips.

“Take it slow,” he whispered.

“Take it easy on me.” Her voice was barely louder than his, but somehow he heard it.

He drifted up, caressing her until his breath on her lips and his fingers running along her cheekbone made every inch of her skin crawl. His hot breath tasted like a recipe from her childhood that had been forgotten. Something that should always be there, but never was.

But it was now. And it was coming from a mouth that was getting closer to hers every second. Closer. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel it. She could feel him.

Her lips surged up in a gasp at the exact moment his started to brush hers, and accompanying it was the most incredible feeling of completion.

As she was imagining this single being tangled in bedsheets, he spoke, pulling her back into the real world. The world where she was clothed, cold, sitting shotgun in a car in a parking lot. She watched her breath escape lips that should have been locked in a kiss.

“Want to go for a drive?”