It is so vividly etched into my mind: the recollection of when I saw you enter that room which, although being crowded and the music blasting from the speakers, made me feel alone and left out. I was about to leave the party, stagger home, crawl back to bed when your eyes instantly sought mine and their corners wrinkled up naturally in your kind, warm smile.
But what did it for me, really, was that deep color that seemed to drag me in, to seduce me to cast aside all inhibitions against my upbringing and made me instantly regret I hadn’t opted for sexier undergarments, for the ones I was wearing were slowly transforming into more wet than solid. The sheer presence and vivacity your eyes emitted were just so enthralling, contagious but, nonetheless, no one seemed to notice. No one else seemed as drawn to those deep pools to your soul.
Was I just imagining things or did your look really express interest in me? Why me? Of all the present selection? After all, the only obstacle that still prevented me from flaunting my best nervous stutter and introducing myself was my shyness.
Even now, after years have passed, this event, without fail, hitherto keeps having that unaltered seductive effect. I only need to think of this azure hue and before I realize it, my hands are already sensually sliding down my belly, closer to my legs, towards the heat in my loins ignited by your irises, by the scolding glow they radiate when your hunger for me is triggered.
Once more, as I close my eyes, my mind loses itself in the picture of those dark teal orbs of yours and the playful twinkling in them. Memories flood my head like the time I called you at an impossible hour only to tell you that I was ready, that I couldn’t make you wait any longer, that I had finally caved to your month-long courtship, that I longed to see your eyes in the throes of your passion as you invade and desecrate my most intimate place. Long enough had I been putting you off with evasive excuses against your best attempts at beguiling me—flashbacks of innumerable past lovers that had rejected me, the fear of losing you in spite of your obvious fondness of me.
That night, you didn’t even bother to find a pretext to leave your dorm to see me—as if your roommates had not long ago gotten the unspoken, yet poorly concealed memo.
Oh, how young we were, as we finally impetuously gave in to what we had, to that point, forced ourselves to renounce to. How happy and fulfilled I was when the cobalt flame in your glance was smoldering strong as ever even after we had found bliss in our mutual consumption.
Yet, nonetheless, we were both too shy to admit our true feelings. It was not before months later, when those light sapphire eyes of yours unsteadily switched between mine and you barely managed to confess your love while I, captured by your gaze as I was, only managed a cracking affirmation while my heart was doing somersaults and my belly was flooded with happiness, fear, felicity, anxiety...
I can’t say enough how, in disregard of your charming smile, the disarming laugh lines or even—goodness forbid—those daft wisecracks you keep making me roll my eyes with, what truly makes me fall for you over and over is that light petrol. That lively sparkling in it. This joy it emanates. The cool blaze that so easily melts my very resolve to resist you, even when vexed beyond sober reasoning, even when the darkness that you try so hard to suppress breaks through.
This soul-piercing look as you pout your squishy, plump lips, make them extra squishy when you kiss me deeply and make my head spin in this lust-fueled frenzy. Even in your absence, I can't help let a sigh escape my mouth over this mere idea.
My fingers travel south just at the thought of your cushion-soft pout finding its perfect match in my fleshy, glistening nether lips you so love to devour.
And even then, while your tongue snakes between my petals in search of my jewel that coyly hides between them, I can still see your eyes transfixed to mine, how they keep enticing me, seeking validation, my approval, awaiting my reaction, my vocal compliments to the pleasure you're giving me while you often forbid yourself the obvious need for your own release I so clearly read in your look.
Did you really think I wouldn't realize how your orgasm self-denial isn't just yet another expression of your self-devaluation? Because you're not worthy of climaxing? Oh, how many times we fought over this but always—with no exceptions—it was your eyes that made me capitulate despite my greatest resolve to insist on how hurtful it is to me, and yet, you always blame yourself for my sadness over your scorn for yourself, keep saying you’re dumb and worthless in your rage fueled by the intense spite for yourself.
So often, you seek this validation by snarky, self-deprecating remarks, making your interlocutor laugh in the unexpected self-ironic assessment. Alas, little do they know that what they misinterpret as a clever way of showing off the ease you manage your life with thanks to not taking yourself too seriously is only a very thin veil covering that genuine spite that governs your self-disregard.
Yet, sadly, you force yourself through that ordeal of self-hate. Oh, how I wish you could just forgive yourself your negligible imperfections just once. When will you realize this passionate hatred you feel for yourself, those impossible standards you evaluate only yourself with, this incapability of yours to love yourself... that this is your greatest flaw.
Oh, how I wish you would, one day, be able to understand that you are, in your flaws, just as perfect as you are meant to be.
...and how I wish you could understand how hurtful it is to see you incessantly belittling yourself, blaming yourself, hurting yourself, abusing yourself...
Even in those dark moments when you let your demons hold the reins, I see in the deep marine of your eyes the softness and loving tenderness. I have not yet found out if it is the cry for help you’re simply too proud and stubborn to openly utter but it shows me that it's still you, welcoming my soothing embrace, allowing me to absorb your anger and let the storm abate.
Pride. This trait of yours you are so ashamed of. Pride in who you are and the great you've done. All your great deeds, your endless self-sacrifice that makes your flaws appear so pale, yet worthless without your acknowledgment of them. If only I knew why you so stubbornly refuse to accept that it doesn't make you an arrogant bastard as you always fear.
How you always tell me, moving the strands of hair out of my face, beaming smile on your lips, endless love radiating in this warm cobalt color that you are proud of me... if only one day, you were able to seduce yourself to tell that into the mirror.
Don't think I haven't noticed the glances you throw yourself, the secret smiles when you look in there. How your laugh lines wrinkle when you think no one is seeing how you look at your reflection... and how you're afraid to appear self-centered for enjoying your own looks.
Why can't you just understand that it's okay to love yourself? You of all people, who has so much selfless love to give that you forget to love yourself... I can't make you but I wish you could.
The only true act of foolishness which you fall victim to is how you refuse to understand that you are a truly desirable person who is entitled to their joy and pleasure.
However hurtful it is to witness your self-destructive episodes over and over again, just the memory of these ocean speckles in your glance make me forgive you and forget my pain time and again. Feeling their warmth radiate directly into my loins, I just cannot help let my fingers make the thin silk of my already translucent panty crotch sink between my fleshy folds.
I gasp as my fingers seek to mimic the texture of your tongue through the thin fabric, and how it explores the swollen flesh in search of the source of the copiously flowing nectar. The image is burnt into my very soul; how you lap my essence—my loving gift to you—and lubricate my erect nub with it, eyes half-closed only to open them wide for me, glistening at the sight of the contortions in my face. This kind of passion I simply can't resist; the blazing ardor gleaming in your eyes that makes me weak at no more than a simple glimpse of you.
I can hardly bear even the faintest of my own touches. That's how deeply you are carved into my memory, how vividly my body remembers your unparalleled caress.
I bite my bottom lip near tearing as I see the fiery smile in your eyes over the knowledge that you—and only you—bring me, again and again, to heights I have never before explored, all induced by just a look into your eyes.
The mere memory of this warm, loving blue alone sends me over the edge as I scream your name into the emptiness of my room and my body thrashes, convulses in the hardly more than methadonic surrogate pleasures your absence reduces me to.
A faint smile comes across my lips as I fall into my slumber, your eyes still filling my thoughts as, falling asleep, I realize I’ve yet again so easily been seduced to touch myself by just a memory of you, o you perfectly flawed lover of mine.
