I sense your eyes on me and I try not to squirm. I lay on the couch on my belly in a pair of black lace panties. My knees are bent and my legs kick lazily back and forth. I am resting on my elbows my back arched as I focus on the book leaning on the arm of the couch in front of me.
It was easier before you came in the room. Easier before you sat in the chair across from me. I turn my head and look up at you through the strands of hair that have escaped the band holding the rest of it back and smile. I start to close the book but you shake your head and tell me to ignore you.
Ignore you? Yeah right.
Your eyes penetrate me burning into my skin. The hair on my arms stands up, my nipples tighten and a surge of heat rushes between my legs. I hate it when you watch me. It makes me aroused, anxious, irritated and afraid. All of my insecurities come rushing to the surface.
I want you to touch me, I want to make you touch me, but I know you won't. If you touch me I don't have to worry about what you are seeing. I don't have to wondering what I look like through your eyes. My eyes are very critical, yours are much more forgiving. Where you see beauty I see flaws.
When you touch me I can forget about your stare, I focus on the touch and get lost in the feeling.
But that's exactly why you won't touch me. Why you sit back and watch, knowing that I am squirming inside, fighting with myself to pretend you aren't there. To stop judging what you are seeing. To let go and surrender to who I am.
I look back at the book and stare at the page. Suddenly the words that were gliding together in perfect harmony only a moment ago are gibberish. The words that were forming amazing pictures that floated through my head read like a foreign language. I read the same line over and over not understanding a word.
I sigh and put my head down, my feet stop their lazy, carefree movement. I try to focus. My heart is pounding, and I feel the tears in the back of my eyes. I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly trying to calm myself. It's not like you are asking me to do something I don't do every day. Its not like this is a foreign task that I don't know how to perform, so why is it so difficult?
I am self conscious of every move, every breath. It would be easier if I knew you weren't paying attention, but you are. I hear your body shift in the chair as you wait for me to compose myself. I lift my head and look at the pages, trying not to turn my head and look at you. I stare at the words through a thin film of tears.
Slowly my eyes start to roam across the words at a halted pace. Eventually my mind starts to weave the story back together. My breathing slows and my feet start to gently move back and forth again. This is surrender, although I don't realize it yet. It won't be until you say something or touch me and I remember you are there that I will have realized I let go.
Daily Mew #136
1 year ago