The Stuff Desire is made of…. part 1

“Why don’t you just tell me”, she asked.

She watched him keenly, as if he were the only thing that occupied her consciousness. She watched his hands as they moved over the dishes, cleaning each one, briskly and efficiently. He stood erect, always. And yet he seemed easy and relaxed. His eyes never left his hands, and yet she knew he was watching her. He knew she was watching him too. She knew that he knew. She liked making him conscious like that. She enjoyed, knowing that her eyes could take his focus away from what he was doing at the time. It gave her a violent sort of pleasure, knowing that he had to fight in order to get his mind to focus on what it was doing. That she should be a distraction.

She watched him. She watched his eyes intent upon the task at hand. The ease with which his hands performed a task. His lips were drawn in tightly, like they always were when he was working. However, they seemed to have been pulled in tighter than usual today. As if he was unsure of what they’d do if he left them open. Or if he knew all too well what they’d do, and was avoiding that.

She could see his neck over his shirt collar. Because his head was bent down, she could see more of it now than usual. How much ‘more’ skin should one be able to see, in order to call another naked, she thought. Would an extra inch of neck suffice? His legs were planted firmly. He’d been standing for a while, but he didn’t move. His legs never shifted weight. They were resolute in their stand, as if against all odds. Her eyes moved upwards from his legs, to his torso, his shoulders, his neck, his lips and his eyes, before she took in all of him.

“Why don’t you just tell me”, she asked, in a flat tone. Devoid of any implications, or ulterior motives.

“Tell you what?” he replied, eyes still glued to his tasks. Mind tearing itself between her and his will to not give his consciousness up to her.

“Tell me that you want to fuck me”