The Look
Posted: Wed Nov 24, 2010 10:03 pm
The loft is crowded. It’s a good mix of people chatting boisterously over the dance beat pulsing through the floor. Some stand by poster-covered walls, others sit on colorful couches and armchairs. I lost track of you a while back. You’re out and about, making the rounds to catch up with old friends, future friends, former friends...
I find myself in a reasonably interesting conversation –re: the early punk rock and hip hop scenes in New York– when you walk back in. For the second time tonight, I am struck by your stunning looks. That seditious black strapless dress swings effortlessly with your every step. Someone mentions the Clash and GrandMaster Flash. I am utterly distracted.
You notice and decide to pause halfway across the expansive, high-ceilinged room to talk to some random acquaintance. I struggle to keep up with the publishing designer and the IT guy both talking to me at once. You lean against a bookshelf; your feet must be starting to hurt in those heels. We exchange furtive glances. A smirk is etched across your face. Nonchalantly, you pick up a wine glass from a server walking by with a tray and raise it to your lips. You are staring straight at me now. Still smirking. With that glint of defiant mischief in your eyes.
I’m not upset. You don’t have a drinking problem and you’re not driving tonight. But earlier in the evening as we got dressed for the party – you were putting on your favorite agate earrings, while I tried on some belts– you looked at me in the mirror and asked: “Can you make sure I don’t drink tonight? I want to keep my sugar intake low this week.” I landed a sharp, sudden smack of the leather to your fine bottom that echoed in the bathroom. You jumped with a gasp and quickly rubbed your smarting cheeks as I promised with a grin. You gave me a precious pouty look – half amused, half annoyed. I stared back with a mild raise of the eyebrows and tilt of the head, silently inquiring if you wanted to arrive at the party even later and sorer. We left in a giddy mood.
That stimulating exchange only hinted at the intensity of now. Another mood has struck. With that first sip and brazen stare you summoned our dynamic, our dark magic, our secret bond. The look in your eyes shifts to outright insolence. You are daring me. See this? What are you gonna do about it? You needed a rule you could break, a new flashing red button to push. But for all that impudent bravado, your eyes and lips betray a familiar nervousness. Is that wine glass faintly trembling in your hand?
It is my turn to cast the look. A direct stare. Like a hawk zeroing in on his prey. Eyes narrowed, lips tight, the shadow of a smile. Confident power freezing you in place with undeniable intent. You are going to get it, missy. Your composure breaks for an instant as your delightful cheekbones pick up a little color. But you pull yourself together and stare right back. With a smug smile. Still, I hold you in a cool commanding gaze. I can detect your shortening breath, your quickening heart rate. The circle closes. An energy field flows between us, right through the oblivious party crowd.
You sense your defenses weakening too soon and it frustrates you to no end. You barely catch yourself about to stamp your feet. No part of you can escape my scrutiny. My stare deepens and gets at the impish girl inside of you – the message so loud and clear you start to worry everyone else will somehow hear it. Do you want me to bare your bottom and spank you right here and now, young lady? You blush. Furiously. Your face. Hot. Your heartbeat. Pounding in your ears. And here comes that troubling rush of emotions coursing through you like wild rapids: yearning, trepidation, mad craving and hot desire battling panicky dread and a charmingly crooked touch of embarrassment.
The world around us recedes into a blur of silhouettes and jumbled voices. Vivid memories come flooding and mix with jagged flashes of the imminent future: The cutest little panties pulled down without hesitation, a straight-backed chair oddly placed in the living room, those sore and awkward trips to the hateful corner, the brand new hairbrush on your bedroom dresser, a kitchen table cleared in one fell swoop to make room for two tangled, lusting bodies, the sweet mornings of our twisted tenderness… For a few seconds, time stops as we share a year’s worth of meaning… without a word being spoken.
Just wait till I get you home…
I find myself in a reasonably interesting conversation –re: the early punk rock and hip hop scenes in New York– when you walk back in. For the second time tonight, I am struck by your stunning looks. That seditious black strapless dress swings effortlessly with your every step. Someone mentions the Clash and GrandMaster Flash. I am utterly distracted.
You notice and decide to pause halfway across the expansive, high-ceilinged room to talk to some random acquaintance. I struggle to keep up with the publishing designer and the IT guy both talking to me at once. You lean against a bookshelf; your feet must be starting to hurt in those heels. We exchange furtive glances. A smirk is etched across your face. Nonchalantly, you pick up a wine glass from a server walking by with a tray and raise it to your lips. You are staring straight at me now. Still smirking. With that glint of defiant mischief in your eyes.
I’m not upset. You don’t have a drinking problem and you’re not driving tonight. But earlier in the evening as we got dressed for the party – you were putting on your favorite agate earrings, while I tried on some belts– you looked at me in the mirror and asked: “Can you make sure I don’t drink tonight? I want to keep my sugar intake low this week.” I landed a sharp, sudden smack of the leather to your fine bottom that echoed in the bathroom. You jumped with a gasp and quickly rubbed your smarting cheeks as I promised with a grin. You gave me a precious pouty look – half amused, half annoyed. I stared back with a mild raise of the eyebrows and tilt of the head, silently inquiring if you wanted to arrive at the party even later and sorer. We left in a giddy mood.
That stimulating exchange only hinted at the intensity of now. Another mood has struck. With that first sip and brazen stare you summoned our dynamic, our dark magic, our secret bond. The look in your eyes shifts to outright insolence. You are daring me. See this? What are you gonna do about it? You needed a rule you could break, a new flashing red button to push. But for all that impudent bravado, your eyes and lips betray a familiar nervousness. Is that wine glass faintly trembling in your hand?
It is my turn to cast the look. A direct stare. Like a hawk zeroing in on his prey. Eyes narrowed, lips tight, the shadow of a smile. Confident power freezing you in place with undeniable intent. You are going to get it, missy. Your composure breaks for an instant as your delightful cheekbones pick up a little color. But you pull yourself together and stare right back. With a smug smile. Still, I hold you in a cool commanding gaze. I can detect your shortening breath, your quickening heart rate. The circle closes. An energy field flows between us, right through the oblivious party crowd.
You sense your defenses weakening too soon and it frustrates you to no end. You barely catch yourself about to stamp your feet. No part of you can escape my scrutiny. My stare deepens and gets at the impish girl inside of you – the message so loud and clear you start to worry everyone else will somehow hear it. Do you want me to bare your bottom and spank you right here and now, young lady? You blush. Furiously. Your face. Hot. Your heartbeat. Pounding in your ears. And here comes that troubling rush of emotions coursing through you like wild rapids: yearning, trepidation, mad craving and hot desire battling panicky dread and a charmingly crooked touch of embarrassment.
The world around us recedes into a blur of silhouettes and jumbled voices. Vivid memories come flooding and mix with jagged flashes of the imminent future: The cutest little panties pulled down without hesitation, a straight-backed chair oddly placed in the living room, those sore and awkward trips to the hateful corner, the brand new hairbrush on your bedroom dresser, a kitchen table cleared in one fell swoop to make room for two tangled, lusting bodies, the sweet mornings of our twisted tenderness… For a few seconds, time stops as we share a year’s worth of meaning… without a word being spoken.
Just wait till I get you home…
