Who Will Not See – a Meandering Thoughts free read!

I look at him; I see him.

Have you ever looked up the word ‘see’? Compared to ‘look’? Perhaps you should. There’s a difference, you know.

I have to admit that I found that out because of Paul, though not from any dictionary. From that very first mission Paul saw me, the real me that I believed no one ever saw, yet I was never hidden from him though it took me a while to understand that.  He saw me better than anyone ever had, better than my wife ever did.  He saw my pain, my despair but he also saw my need.  A need I didn’t even know I had.

I know now that I reacted to him because of his special awareness of me, because I was – ever so slowly – learning to see him. I think that eventually I saw him better than anyone ever had.

When I realized that, I became afraid.  To see someone that clearly puts a responsibility on you and somehow gives them an odd kind of power over you. Weigh that against the knowledge that they see you just as clearly and you are balancing over a precipice. Either you will fall or you will grab each other for support.

So what do I do now? A lot of time has gone past. I have a sense that perhaps at last the time has come. I have to be sure though. I want him to grab me, to hold on to me for support, yet I’m afraid he will let me fall.

I’m watching him now.

He’s just standing there talking the way he does with his hands almost as much as with his voice.  I’m hanging on to each and every word, though if you asked me later to explain what he was talking about I couldn’t tell you. It wasn’t what he said as much as how he said it.

That voice, warm and soothing, yet tinged with excitement. Like his expression. Once I caught sight of his eyes my description of him changed from excited to passionate. In my mind, where Paul is concerned, they are indistinguishable, the man just exudes passion.

Which is rather my problem because I wanted that passion aimed at me. I know how much he cares; I’m just not sure he cares that way. I’m not even sure that he thinks about love or sex, not since he lost his partner. I think he buried all such thoughts and he purposely lost himself in his work.

Which, even putting my own desires aside, is so sad. Never has a man had so much to give.

Then suddenly, he stopped talking, his mouth slightly open. He snapped it shut and dipped his eyes for a moment. I frowned because I didn’t understand why he stopped mid-sentence.

Then he raised his eyes staring directly at me and I felt a tightening in my stomach, a thudding in my chest and all at once I was afraid to meet the gaze of my best friend and I dropped my eyes. I was afraid that he already knew what I wanted, what I desired – what I feared.

He breathed my name and almost unwillingly I lifted my gaze to meet his bright blue eyes. They were sparkling and his lips were curved in an odd, almost embarrassed smile.

Then I remembered something and I smiled. For a while I had forgotten that when he looks at me; he sees me.

For a short while, I had been blind. Now, once again, I can see.

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Meandering Thoughts free read – A Hot Shower (NC17)

I came across this shower scene when sorting through some old files. It wasn’t clearly labelled and I have no idea what I wrote it for, it might have even been just an exercise, but I think it’s well worth putting out there for folk to read. It’s definitely hot, so read with care:)

Warm water cascaded over his body as I rubbed my soapy hands up and down his back in long sweeping strokes. I loved the feel of his skin beneath my fingers, supple and pliant covering his beautiful body.  I traced his well defined muscles and watched as his corded tendons flexed, arching against my caresses.

He curved further away from me, reaching out to lean his hands on the back wall of the shower cubicle, dropping his head between his outstretched arms.

“Oh please don’t tease…please.”

I smiled and leaned in to kiss his nape and he moaned.  I slipped one hand around to tease an erect nipple before releasing it to brush my hand across his abdomen, finally taking hold of his waist. I dropped my other hand lower into his cleft feeling for his opening, sliding a finger inside and twisting.  I knew he wouldn’t need much preparation, he was still so relaxed from my playing with his hole during the blow job I’d just given him.  I slipped in a second finger, sought out his prostate and grinned when he bucked.

“Bastard,” he sighed.

“Yeah but you still want me, don’t you?” I asked as I nudged his entrance with my engorged cock.

“Oh God, yeah.”

Holding his hips now I pushed in, waited for him to adjust and then slid in the rest of the way.  I watched as the water ran in rivulets down his spine and I leaned in to lick it off his back revelling in the special taste of his velvety skin.  Suddenly his muscles gripped me and I groaned at the sensation.

I got the hint and pulled out only to slam back inside him.  He lifted his hips a little and panted, “More, harder, I wanna feel you pound into my heart.”

Oh God, I loved this man, never felt like this with anyone before.  I did as he asked and set up a hard, fast rhythm, pounding into him, until I felt his body shuddering as I hit his sweet spot, pulling out and thrusting in again and again until I was pouring all my love into him as my orgasm ripped through me.

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SAVOR – a gay sensual Meandering Thoughts free read!

Just a short sensual scene that I hope you enjoy:)

SAVOR

“I want to make love in the living room.”

Rick licked his suddenly dry lips.  “We can make love in every room in the house if you want.”

Peter laughed, “Eventually.  Let’s just start in here, shall we?”  He took hold of Rick’s hand and led him into the living room, coming to a halt on the thick rug in front of the presently unlit fire.

“You want I should light it?” Rick asked, his eyes never leaving Peter.

“Nah, you can warm me up.”

“Perfect.” Rick beamed.  Then he remembered something.  “Hang on,” he said and bolted for his bedroom.  Peter frowned wondering what on earth he was up to, smiling when he returned a moment later holding a small bottle.  “Don’t want to start without this,” he grinned, dropping the lube on the soft rug.  “Now where were we?  Ah, I remember.”

Keeping his eyes on his lover, Rick began to undress, slowly letting his fingers linger over his skin.  Peter watched for a few electric seconds before his fingers began to unfasten his own shirt.

When there were both completely naked they stood there staring at each other.  “I can just look,” Rick said softly. “I don’t have to fumble under a blanket in the dark, or rush because we don’t have much time.  I can savor you.  I can look my fill and touch every inch of you.”

Peter’s breath hitched at the naked desire in Rick’s voice, afraid to speak and spoil his mood.  It was so erotic to create such a need in another human being and he instinctively understood that he should let Rick take the lead. Peter knew he couldn’t possibly be disappointed.

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TRUST – a Meandering Thoughts Free Read!

Here’s another of my Meandering Thoughts:

TRUST

I kept as low as I could as I ran through the undergrowth. I could hear him behind me, but only him. He must have outpaced the rest of them. I knew I was fast and I’d hoped I was fleeter of foot than he was. At least in this. Being pursed as a possible murderer in no way compared with being pursued by a man one would like to be caught by.

I was panting for breath and as I dropped down behind an outcropping of rock I prayed he would not hear me. I hoped he might pass by my hiding place. I didn’t want to hurt him but no way would I let him take me. I didn’t fear for my safety at his hands, I knew he would only take me prisoner, but I had no such faith in the others.

They were led by the sheriff who would like nothing better than to lay into me, and his followers would happily join in just to keep on his good side. They didn’t know that he had committed the murder and blamed it on me just so he could be rid of me.  

I did my best to control my breathing, pressing myself lower into the ground as if trying to lose myself in the dank earth. I could hear him close by, too close for comfort. Why did it have to be him, the one I’d lusted after for months, ever since he arrived? Gradually I gained his friendship, and I’d thought perhaps more. I’d seen the way he looked at me recently and I was gathering my courage to approach him. I’d been so wrapped up in my own reaction to him that I’d missed the other glances cast his way. By the sheriff.

Yet again I’ve let my distraction over him get me into trouble. I can hear someone ahead. And they’re still behind me. I’m fucked.

“Quickly, this way. Now!” A voice hisses. It is him. By all that’s holy, it’s him. Somehow he’s got ahead of me. I rush toward him, only thinking as I reach him that he could be about to betray me. I’d trusted my life to him. A hand grabbed me and pulled me down.

I stared into his eyes and he held my gaze as he whispered, “I know a way out of here. Do you trust me?”

“Always.” I spoke without volition. It simply was.

“Good.” He smiled and I knew. “I trust you and I know you didn’t do this.”

“Do you know who did?” I murmured and he nodded.

“Follow me, keep low and we’ll get out of here.”

I’d follow him anywhere.

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Waiting For Words – a Meandering Thoughts free read!

 

Here’s another Meandering Thoughts piece, written – just because:)

WAITING FOR WORDS

I leaned back in my chair, comfortable of body but not of mind. Why was I waiting? What did I expect? Forgiveness? I laughed, the sound harsh. I didn’t deserve forgiveness and I knew it. I’d let anger rule me. I was a fool and now I would get my just desserts.  Just? There was nothing just about it. Actions come with consequences. Words, such tiny things, yet there was nothing more powerful. Why didn’t he use them? Lord, why didn’t I?

Falling in love shouldn’t come with a Danger, Will Robinson warning. Not that I’d any experience of love. Until recently my experience consisted of quickies, buddy-fucks and a few short term relationships, but love? Way outside my experience. Then I’d met Adam. Literally bumped into him on the way out of – or was that into? – the bar, depends on your point of view. Anyhow we’d collided and Adam put out his hands to stop me tumbling, and I grabbed onto his arms. We stared at each other, he smiled, shrugged and by way of an apology offered to buy me a drink. I’d been leaving but accepted his offer with alacrity.

We had sex in the washroom, that’s all it was that first time. Sex, yet even then I somehow knew it was somehow different. We clicked like we were meant to be, you know? Something special, once in a lifetime. The next time, and the time after that, the sex was laced with feelings until we both acknowledged we cared for each. Three wonderful months later we declared our moved in together.

Now, six months later, here I am wondering if he would even come and talk to me. Yell at me. Anything! I’d been a stupid bastard and I knew it. Looking back I wondered how I’d ever been such a fool.

Just by chance I’d seen him at lunchtime walking along the street. I hurried to catch up to him; we never managed to see each other during the working day, so it’d seemed like serendipity. Then I noticed he wasn’t alone. A man walked by his side. I saw how they laughed together so very easily, how they touched each other casually, how arms draped around shoulders as they leaned close to speak to each other, eyes meeting as they smiled. Jealousy spiked through me, a feeling I had never had before and I hated the way it made me feel. Hated that he could make me feel that way. I stopped still on the pavement and watched as they walked on, too hurt to do more than watch with pain in my heart.

That evening when he came home I was already spoiling for a fight. I didn’t question him, I attacked him. Only with words to be sure, but words can be sharper than a knife. He stared at me, eyes hard and bright. He never said a word, didn’t defend himself, just turned on his heel and slammed the bedroom door behind him. I took that as an admission of guilt; that there was no excuse he could even give me.

Still angry I stormed out and went to the nearest bar and drank like a fish. I caught this guy eying me and all I saw was a chance for revenge. Fuck it! Fuck him! I let the guy take me into the bathroom and he sucked off and then I gave him a hand job; a bit rough, but he loved it. I never even knew his name.

I stumbled through the front door, drunk and utterly careless. I found him waiting for me, looking distressed. He walked toward me, talking, something about thanking God that I was home safe; he’d been so worried. He’d been too upset to answer my accusation and then too angry, but now—he stopped, eyes going wide as he stared at me. His face flushed with shock, with anger, I wasn’t sure. He backed away a step or two. His voice little more than a whisper, he told me he could smell the sex on me.

He dropped into the chair behind him, his chin dropped to his chest as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. Still in that low, lost voice, he told me the man I’d seen him with was called Paul, an old friend, a childhood friend he’d agreed to meet for lunch. Paul had finally proposed to the girl he’d loved for years and Paul wanted Adam to be his best man. He’d told Paul about me and they’d been happily congratulating each other on finding the person they could spend the rest of their life with.

He looked at me then, the hurt in his eyes washing over me, covering me with agony. He turned and walked away, the quiet closing of the bedroom door a boom of thunder in my mind.

I collapsed into the chair he’d just vacated, dropped my head in my hands, swamped with too much guilt to cry. And waited for words I didn’t know would ever come.

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Piece Of Paper – a Meandering Thoughts Free Read!

Here’s another Meandering Thoughts piece.  This one written to commemorate the increasing number of States to legalize gay marriage.

PIECE OF PAPER

“Stephen?  Where are you?”

“In here, Dillon,” I called, belatedly realizing that didn’t exactly say where I was. “In the den.” I got to my feet just as Dillon walked in. “I wanted to get all this paperwork squared away.”

“I know, I know,” Dillon said testily. “I agreed to sort that out last weekend.”

“And you hate anything so mundane,” I interjected with a laugh. I knew my Dillon so well, and I never really expected he would follow through with his offer to tidy up, but when he didn’t even respond to my gentle jibe I knew he had something else on his mind. And I was pretty sure what it was.

Frowning at me, Dillon said, “It’s been on the news all day. Don’t tell me you’ve not heard!”

“Heard?”

“It passed! Finally, it passed,” he declared. “I know I told you it would this time, but…”

I hadn’t heard; I’d purposely avoided the news all day. I knew how he would react if it passed, not that I’d really doubted it would this time. I also knew, of course, what he would want; I just tried to ignore it, as if that would somehow make it go away. Dillon had been planning all along for us to get married as soon as the law was finally passed. Me? I wasn’t interested. I loved Dillon with everything I was, but I didn’t need someone else to confirm for me that I was committed to him; I knew that with my heart and soul.

Dillon had always been sure of who he was, what he was. Me, I’d fooled myself, lied to myself for more years than I cared to admit. I’d brushed off my interest in men as artistic and nothing more. I had no ulterior motive, I just happened to be an aesthetic man who saw form and beauty in everything around me. I simply admired the curves of a woman’s body with as much enthusiasm as I did the strength of man’s thigh, the line of his spine, the tightness of his ass. The light catching in an eye was as striking whatever the sex of the person whose eye it was.

It was easier to go with the flow than fight against the current, and my brother and my friends were constantly extolling their present girlfriends, or the next conquest they desired. So, I dated girls, denying the fact that I had any interest in the guys I hung around with.

Eventually I met Peggy. She was nice, she made me laugh, and we shared a lot of interests, and it didn’t take long before the casual dates became less casual and I found myself proposing to her.

I ignored the fact that kissing her didn’t set off any fireworks, that was for the movies; or that having sex with her didn’t rock my world either, that was only for the romance novels. I was doing what was normal, what was expected, I was getting married.

Once bitten, twice shy.

“Please, Dillon, not this again. You know how I feel about marriage. I went through hell with Peggy. I admit it must’ve been as bad for her. We promised to love and cherish each other, but it was a sham and all we did was hurt each other. Any love she might have felt for me I destroyed and she…” I stopped, there was no point trying to explain yet again, not even to myself. It had been a terrible mistake for which we had both paid dearly. “The only fact of which I’m certain is that the marriage license wasn’t worth the paper it was written on,” I added bitterly.

“For God’s sake, Stephen, your disastrous marriage has nothing to do with us. I know you love me and I hope you know what you mean to me.”

“Of course I do!”

“And I want the world to know it too. To know that my feelings are as real, as meaningful, as any straight guy’s.”

“That piece of paper doesn’t prove anything.” I was sick of going in circles with this.

Dillon stared at me intently. “Will you do it for me, just because I ask you?”

For a moment I felt angry that he put me on the spot like that, but it didn’t take but a few seconds to realize that my obstructive attitude forced him to push me into a corner. He had never hidden his desire from me and I had never hidden my distaste at my own false vows.

“I will do it for you if that is what you truly want,” I replied, struggling to keep the resignation from my voice.

“I do. Please. That piece of paper might not mean a lot to you, and, believe me, I don’t need it to know you’re committed to me, Stephen, but we can’t let down all those who fought so hard for the right to hold it in their hands.”

“I really can’t argue with that,” I admitted. “I just don’t want to feel like a hypocrite.”

“Stephen, love. Sometimes, your stupid pride blinds you to the truth. It’s not the piece of paper that’s important; it’s the sentiment that makes the paper so significant. It’s a declaration of the love I feel for you and want to share with our family and friends; that it’s there for the whole world to see is just coincidental. The fact is I don’t care who else knows, I wouldn’t care if we had no-one but each other to share this with.  But what does matter is that I have as much right to make my declaration as the next man, any next man.”  He took me in his arms, staring deep into my eyes. “No one has any right to tell me that what I feel for you is not as deep or as special as a man feels for his woman. The fact that it is, is what makes that piece of paper important to me.”

My heart was beating so hard I thought it might bruise against my ribs. Then, I knew nothing could bruise my heart today, or any other day; Dillon would take such good care of it. I smiled as I leaned in to kiss him, letting my passion say the words my heart was too full to release.

The vows I would make to Dillon would be real and honest, and would be for longer than the rest of my life. That piece of paper would have pride of place in our home.

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To Draw Breath – a Meandering Thoughts Free Read!

Here’s another dip into my Meandering Thoughts – this short piece was written a few years ago after an online conversation about the religion and homosexuality, just jotted down some ideas in my head at the time.

TO DRAW BREATH

Is it wrong? This feeling, this need, this… desire?  Is it wrong to want to be with him just because of his gender? Does it matter, really?  So he’s a man, I’m a man and I love him. He’s just a person after all, a human being… and to me it is as natural to love him as it is to draw breath. I find I can’t live without either. So how can it be wrong? I didn’t create this need to breathe any more than I created the emotion that flows through me, heightening my very perception of life. My need for him.

Whatever – if you believe in God, whoever – created me, created this capacity in me to love a person irrespective of gender. So it’s as natural as breathing. A human being was created with the need for companionship, emotional love, sexual love. That’s all we are, human beings doing what comes naturally, whatever gender we are, whatever gender we love. Oh yes, I feel the need to touch and to be touched by him. I long to feel his mouth on mine, his hands exploring my body, for him to express his need physically, to know that he needs me as much as I need him.

Is it wrong to feel this way?

Not unless it is wrong to draw breath.

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Castles in the Air – a Meandering Thoughts Free Read!

I thought I’d post another of my Meandering Thoughts – a short piece of writing that has never before been seen outside of my living room:)  This piece, which I call Castles in the Air was written a few years ago as an exercise in free writing in present tense. I hope you like it!

CASTLES IN THE AIR

He stirs as awareness returns but he simply rolls over, sliding further under the covers.  Then he thinks he hears a sound and slowly he peaks over the top of the bedclothes.

“Hi there, sleepyhead,” the man says – John says.

He’s fairly sure his name is John.  He likes to think of him as John.  For a moment he’s happy, he’s always happy when John is there.  But he never stays.  If he closes his eyes, John will most likely be gone when he opens them again.  So, not surprisingly, he is afraid to close his eyes.  John rises from the chair by the window and walks over to him, smiling.

“It’s okay, I’m here.  You know I’ll always be here for you.”

“If only that was true,” he says.  John takes his hand and squeezes.

He can feel it, John has to be real if he can feel it, doesn’t he?  Providing he is real of course.

His eyes feel heavy.  No!  He doesn’t want to sleep, not so soon.  He tightens his grip on John’s hand.

 ****

Drifting awake again, he wonders how much time has passed.  He realizes his hand feels cold.  It lies outside the covers; he’d been holding John’s hand.  Gingerly he opens his eyes.  There’s no one there.  He feels tears prick his eyes.  He should’ve known.  Damn it, he had known; that was why he ‘d tried so hard to hold on to John’s hand.  John is his only anchor, without John’s strength he is adrift.

The door opens and the nurse asks breezily as she sweeps in, “And how are we today, Martin?”  She takes in his appearance and clucks at him.  “Come on, things are not as bleak as that.”

How would she know?  It is so easy for her.  She takes his temperature and checks his blood pressure.  The door opens again and a tray of food is shoved onto his overbed table.  He turns away, ignoring it.  The very idea of food makes him feel sick.

“Come on now, you know you have to eat,” the nurse coaxes.

“Don’t want it,” he mumbles into his pillow.

With a theatrical sigh, the nurse says, “You know the Doc will not be happy with you.”

He just shrugs.

“Well, I did warn you.  I’ll have to put this on your chart for the doctor’s round later.”

He just snuggles lower and lets himself drift.  Perhaps John will come back.

****

He hears the rustle of paper and quickly opens his eyes.  John is sitting in the chair by the bed reading a magazine.  When John realizes he is being watched he drops the magazine and, smiling, takes hold of his wrist, absently rubbing it.

“How are you feeling now, Martin?”

The love he sees in John’s eyes warms him as nothing else ever can.  His eyes dart to the door; surely it must nearly be time for rounds and visitors can’t stay during the doctor’s round.

“It’s okay,” John says softly, “It’s almost half an hour until it’s time for her rounds.”

He sighs with relief and holds on to John, afraid to let go.

“I miss you,” John says, “It’s too quiet at home.”  The smile fades and John looks very serious.  “Say you’ll try, do what the doctor tells you.  I know it’s hard but please…” John stops speaking and lifts his free hand to wipe the tear that has spilled onto Martin’s cheek.  “Don’t cry Marty, I’ll wait for you, however long it takes, you know that.  I just want things back the way they should be.”  John caresses his cheek and he leans into the tender touch.

“I will, I promise,” he says.  “I’ll do anything for you, anything to get my life back and spend it with you.”

John kisses his temple and says, “Rest now, you look tired.”

****

He wakes when the door opens to admit the doctor.  Other than the two of them the room is empty.  He feels bereft.

“Don’t be upset,” the doctor says softly, obviously recognizing the signs.  “What is troubling you?”

The nurses always talk about the doctor in a threatening way, but he always finds she is gentle and kind with him.  Perhaps it is because he is so ill, he ponders.

“John never stays long enough.  I miss him all the time.  I feel so much better, stronger when he is here,” he admits.

“I know.  I understand how much you need him.  But, Martin, you must understand that as long as you allow yourself to rely so greatly on another, you will never really be well.  As wonderful as it must seem to be able to lean on someone as caring as your John, you need to find the strength in yourself, to figuratively stand on your own two feet so you can walk out of here.  Surely John wants that?  For you to be able to go to him on your own?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “So I can go home where I belong.”

“That’s right,” she says, stroking the hair back from his forehead.  “You need to let him go, so you can find your way home to him,” she adds softly.

She moves back a pace or two and slips the hypodermic needle into the port on his drip, watching as his eyelids begin to droop and finally close.

He feels reality slip away and he smiles knowing he will dream of the time when John comes to visit again.

 ***

The doctor watches the once brilliant, charming man fall asleep, suspecting he will dream yet again of John, the man he loves.

She sighs thinking how sad it is that Martin feels so lost, so alone that he has to create an imaginary companion, someone who has become so important to him that Martin can no longer separate fact from fantasy.

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Observation – a Meandering Thoughts free fiction by Stevie Woods

Thought I’d try something different on my Blog for a change. I decided to post the occasional free fiction, short dips into my writing that haven’t appeared in any of my published work. Some of them might be writing exercises, just a way to get the juice flowing when things weren’t going so well with whatever current WIP I was working on, some were ideas that I thought might develop into stories but never quite worked, some just ideas I wanted to jot down. I decided to call these Meandering Thoughts and this first one, called Observation, was written a few years ago when I was first experimenting with writing in First Person, and I’d just been prescribed my first pair of spectacles:)

OBSERVATION

I have to wear glasses otherwise I can’t see properly, that’s the general consensus. Can’t argue with that, no glasses and everything is just a blur.

Still, it never ceases to amaze me how people with supposed perfect vision just don’t see. Not even things right under their noses; talk about not seeing the wood for the trees. Then again, that’s become somewhat easier for me to understand since I recently realized I was just as guilty of that as the rest of the human race.

I sit here now across the table from him, the cause of my epiphany. I’ve known the man for three years and yet it was only recently that I really saw him, saw the way he saw me. Then I realized that I was, for a time, thankfully a very short time, afraid. Not of him, never of him; of me. Could I accept what he was offering me?

It only took one touch, one particular brush of his fingers to know. I not only wanted what he was offering, I needed it, and I needed him. Also, I realized that he not only wanted me but he needed me and that filled my heart with joy. I’d missed that, being desired and, more importantly, being needed.

That was when I really began to look, to watch the man I’d come to love. You see, I wondered what else I’d been missing. It took me a while to understand why that one touch had communicated so much to me when Steve had always been tactile, always little touches, my arm, my shoulder, a ruffle of my hair, a hand to the small of my back. I never could let anyone else get that close to me, something else I’d never bothered to question, it just was.

So why this time, why this touch? I worked it out, simple really, because I understood what the touch meant to him; I saw. Not just with my eyes, but with my heart. It meant something to Steve so it meant something to me. The warmth that ran through me was invigorating.

My next thought was how much I’d missed during the last three years. How long had he felt like that? Steve admitted to me that he’d been falling in love – God to hear that word from his lips – for quite a while. It crept up on him until even he wasn’t sure when it really began; but there was no way he could say anything. Not until I was free, until my divorce was final, and even then Steve admitted to some fear himself; fear of rejection, fear of losing my friendship. Steve said he just couldn’t face that, so he waited.

So long, it had been so long. I’d been blind for so long. So much for wearing glasses! So now I look, I watch, I see.

Like now; when we’re taking part in a meeting as we have done most weekdays for the past three years; the same, but oh so different. He’d always leaned back in his chair with eyes half-closed, appearing bored and never seeming to take account of the presentations. I had long since recognized that wasn’t really the case because he always knew exactly what was involved down to the smallest detail. Now I understood what he was really doing when he was pretending not to pay attention.

He was observing me.

Whenever I turned my back to point out something on the large screen, he was watching my ass. I think I’m glad I never knew that back then, I’d have been as embarrassed as hell. Now I like that he can’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off it.

I also discovered when I’m talking and he slides down in his seat slouching and playing with his pen or doodling, what he is actually doing is watching my face. He told me he loves to watch my lips, but also if I get really passionate about something my eyes light up. I got kind of embarrassed about that. I could never have imagined just how romantic Steve really is.

Like during our visits to the gym. It was Steve who convinced me that as someone who spent most of my day stuck behind a desk I needed to exercise regularly. I always imagined that he kept an eye on me in that protective way of his while I learned to use the gym equipment, but he still watched me closely even after I was well versed in its use. He didn’t only watch over me, he studied me. He watched as I lay flat out, or when I stretched up or as I bent over. He watched the way my body moved, the definition of the muscles in my back or thighs. The gluteal muscles as they moved under my shorts.

I remember that evening, lying in his arms on his sofa as he confessed his feelings to me. I remember how aroused I became by his description of his own arousal. The more I learned of him, the more I began to know myself.

I’d had sex with others, male and female. Thought I’d been in love before and it had been wonderful, but I had to admit to myself that I never achieved the heights of passion with anyone else that I did with Steve. I also knew I was falling more in love with him day by day and I was so grateful we’d have a lifetime to spend together. I was already so close to Steve, more known by him than I’d ever felt before. I knew that Steve was truly the other half of my soul.

There’s another reason I watch Steve. He told me how much he loved me, and please believe me when I say that I don’t doubt that, but as I came to the realization of his love for me by observation, I felt that perhaps I could judge its depth the same way. Perhaps that was naïve of me, I can’t argue that possibility but still, I observe.

I observe the way he nervously twirls the pen when he knows I’m watching him. He can’t hide from me anymore the way he used to. I know he keeps his hands moving like that because his hands would rather be busy elsewhere. Touching me. He daren’t look at me either, that’s why his eyes are darting everywhere. If he looked at me he couldn’t look anywhere but at my mouth, unless perhaps it was at my eyes. He really has a thing for my eyes. I can’t help but smile. Good thing I’m sitting at the moment or I might blush at what I’m pretty sure he’s thinking and how it’s making me feel. We made an agreement to keep this out of the office, to behave perfectly normally while at work. We do, at least physically we do, but mentally that’s a whole other ball game as Steve might say; for both of us.

Just as I observe him now, he still observes me. Can’t help it, either of us. Not sure we want to anyway.

As I sit here now watching him, my mind drifts back to last night when we were making love and I was buried deep inside him as he squirmed beneath me. Just as he reached climax our eyes met and I saw my joy reflecting back at me from his eyes. How much more did I need to see?

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