Your eyes are brown and beautiful, it’s been longer than three years since I last saw them. No one ever tells you that brown eyes can be beautiful, everyone fawns over the depth and clarity of blues and greens. Beautiful brown eyes are softer, warmer. I didn’t realize how long I’d been held by them. I don’t remember when our eyes first met. As the flames between us danced, they blocked the line of sight, and I realized I hadn’t been breathing. Outside of my mind the moment ended. I drifted between paying attention to the conversation around me, and attempting to indulge my lust for your gaze. I aimed to lose myself in your eyes again.
Glances toward you lingered longer and were more frequent. Even now the memory of the erratic shadows cast on your soft skin by the flames is calming. You were far too pretty, in contrast to the scruffy mess I was. You were also too pretty for this place – this campground didn’t deserve you. I caught your eye again, and time seems to stop. I smiled, and you got up from the log and were lost in the darkness surrounding the fire. I stared into the flames, my thoughts still filled by you. I realized I was cold and tired, so I turned to leave.
You’re there, slight smile, those eyes. I mesh my fingers with those of your outstretched hand. You’re cold as well, and soft. I can’t tell which of us is trembling, fighting not to shiver. You take the lead, and I follow. I’m thankful the moon provides enough light that I can make out how beautiful your form is. I curse the night for teasing me with the details. You’re definitely too pretty. I realize I have no idea where we’re going, who you are, or why you’ve brought me here. I wonder why I’m not concerned when you stop. There should have been silence in the absence of footsteps. I hear breathing. It has an emotional quiver to it, a note of urgency. I realize its not mine. Our eyes meet again. I don’t stare this time. I’ve closed my eyes without really understanding why. I don’t open them.
I can describe your eyes now, if only to myself. They look they way your lips feel. Warm. Soft. Tempting. Sexy. Wrapped together, we both shiver. Mouths part for breath, our faces still touching. We kiss again. Your tongue presses into the part between my lips. I allow you. I understand the phrase “putty in your hands”, I’ve become it. I wasn’t sure what to expect, or why I expected anything at all. But, grinning despite gasping for breath, I expected something to happen. Your eyes echoed back the new energy, the new feelings, the electric thrill.