It's Still in Her Eyes

It's Still in Her Eyes

As we whisper through the steam rising from our coffee cups, Asian Song porcelain, that siphoning look appears in her eyes as she shifts increasingly from side to side.

Her eyes fade and then glare, as her hand reaches out to replace her slender cup to its place on the low table before us, and she stretched back on the couch, adjusting the pillows behind her.

She stared directly into my eyes as she narrowed her view until she had locked in on my sense of attention, and only then did it seem apparent that she had slipped her hand into her panties and was wafting a gentility of sensations to inoculate our conversations with lip biting moans and shuttering exhibitions.

I continued my part of the conversation, which seemed to unleash her inhibitions as she wandered purposefully towards her expressions, which at their height evolved into a cresting, overwhelming breathlessness.

I never broke our eye contact nor ceased my excursion during our social interlude.

She merely looked into my eyes, and then she proceeded to finish her coffee.

Vulnerability grants a human's greatest gift. Trust and satisfaction.