I don't know what it is he wants from me, but I've seen this smile before. In dark, private places. He swears he doesn't desire me, but his eyes say something else altogether. His eyes speak of hot, dark nights spent near the water, and long, cool mornings, rolling around in a tent until the sun comes up. His eyes are the main thing I need not listen to. So, I avert my eyes. They land on his lips.
Ahhh, those lips. I watch them move and a stillness falls over me, broken only by the insistent pounding of my heart. He realizes that my attention has been caught, and that same smile crosses his lips. He catches my eye, and the look on his face makes the lower part of my body tie itself into knots. If I stare, he'll know exactly what I'm thinking. All I can do is raise my eyebrows in an expression of amusement, and roll my eyes at him. This will leave him thinking we've shared some private joke that he doesn't know, but his pride will keep him from asking me what was so amusing. In reality, it was nothing. However, he doesn't know this and he never will.
I take a sip of my wine, and turn my attention back to my sister. She's speaking of the painting that is propped up beside her door, a beautiful woman that has the most perfect belly button that I've ever seen. It's her latest work. It's not finished, but it is far enough along to know that it's going to be amazing. We all gaze at it for a while, discussing various aspects of it, and then he tires of that and picks up a guitar.
Even if I weren't intoxicated, my attention would automatically revert to the person with the guitar. I am fascinated by them. I watch his hands, plucking various strings, pulling music from this fantastic instrument. I am as good as spellbound, and I can stare all I want. His attention is captured by the guitar. His fingers manipulate the strings, and I find myself wondering what they could do to my body. I shake my head, trying to clear it of these thoughts. I sigh at myself, and he looks up at me, his eye caught by my curls. I tuck one behind my ear, smile at him, and take another sip of my drink. He smiles back, and I hold out my hand, offering the bottle to him. He takes a swig, hands it back, and launches into the opening riffs of what we have both declared to be our favorite Led Zeppelin song. This is the song that, when played, makes me want to sink down low in my seat, close my eyes, and breathe deeply for as long as it endures. The guitar in it makes me want to have sex. No joke. I can't sit and listen to him play this, so I climb to my feet and walk off towards the bathroom.
I close the door and lean up against it. The sound of the guitar is muffled, and I can barely hear anything that is going on in the room I just left. Mission accomplished. I turn and look at myself in the mirror. There are no visible signs of intoxication. The curls on my head are a bit messy, but that's how they're supposed to be. My eyes look huge, and possibly blue-er than I have ever seen them look before. My shirt needs to be pulled up just the teensiest bit in the front, the lace edge of my bra has started to peek out from beneath it. I chuckle to myself. No wonder I was getting that smile. My necklace ended in the perfect area to draw attention to my ample cleavage, and he's never been one to ignore that. Besides, I always got a little bit braver when I drank. I imagine the smile I had given him earlier radiated sex, and that's a hard thing to ignore.
I spent a few more minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose myself. I had to tone this lust thing way down. He had said repeatedly that he only wanted to be friends. And yes, words say one thing, and actions and body language tell a very different story. But I had to respect the words. He was, after all, a trusted friend, and I refused to be the one to fuck up our friendship.
The night progressed until all parties involved were ready to sleep. I myself crashed in the floor, waking up in the morning to the sounds of kittens running amuck. I glanced over at the couch, where he lay sleeping, and momentarily forgot to breathe. Almost everyone in the world has something that makes them beautiful, but certain people are at their most perfect when they sleep. Then, all the pretense drops away and all you can see is the pure essence of their beauty. He was one of these people. I watched him slumber for a few moments, then buried my head in my arms and fell back to sleep myself.
The moment finally came when we had to bid goodbye to my sister and her boyfriend, and start home. He drove this time, and I was free to just sit back in my seat and think. I tired of that quickly, and began to make conversation. We talked the entire way to my house, about nothing and everything. That's how every conversation was with him. You could talk about nothing, and it could be the most important thing in the world. The ride ended far too soon, and I found myself saying goodbye before I wanted to. Of course, he had to climb out of the van in order to help me get the sleeping bags that we'd taken with us the night before into my trunk. I shut the trunk and hitched my bag up a little higher on my shoulder. He held out his arms, and I moved into them, marveling at how one of his hugs could intoxicate me further than anything else I'd ever tried. I buried my face into his jacket and very sneakily inhaled, the smell of cologne, and his leather jacket filling my nostrils. I released him sooner than I wanted to, and as I pulled away, he gently rubbed my back. I stepped backwards and smiled up at him, telling him that I would talk to him later. Then I turned and started toward the house, fighting the urge to look back and watch him drive away.
As I walked, my thoughts were in turmoil. Trying to deny my feelings for him, and this overwhelming attraction was driving me mad. Fortunately, my common sense prevented me from acting on it, but there were moments that I felt fully justified in hopping on top of him and releasing all of my sexual agression. He was just lucky I was so shy. There were moments when I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, to wake up by his side, to see that particular smile on his face. It was nothing, though. He just happened to be a very attractive member of the opposite sex. He was my friend and nothing more, regardless of what my hormones wanted to happen.
It's not as if I could ever fall in love with him.
| You tell a great story, Raivn! I can easily see you writing great novels oneday! |
You take the trouble to spell and punctuate, which I adore! I hate seeing so much work here with no effort towards proper punctuation or spelling.
|| Posted on 2008-02-17 00:00:00 | by Ron Cole | [ Reply to This ] |