Ive Seen The Way You Look At Me

"I've seen the way you look at me," I whispered in her right ear, my body brushing against her back, my nose flirting with her straight hair, my mouth hanging an inch away from her skin, my own flesh surprised that I had the will to halt its road to her neck and achingly begging me to tilt forward just a little bit more.

It had taken me six months to muster up the courage to say those words, six months of internal struggles over the nature of my feelings, of debates on how she'd take it and of covering the broad spectrum from wonderful to near disastrous consequences. But as I leaned into her, that brief moment when I could sense my heart skip a beat against her back, I knew I belonged there. It felt sensual, overpowering, and just the perfect amount of right. I hadn't planned on lingering, I wanted to be swift, say the words and move away, let her battle her own demons, and probably start battling my own.

However the sensation of her, so close, so delectably sweet, made me stop a fraction of a second longer and I kicked myself mentally for letting her guess that she had a hold on me. That wasn't how I had played it in my head, night after night for six months. But I did linger, and could I even blame myself? She was painfully breathtaking that night, in a black top and a sweet slim jeans that hugged her in all the right places... God, she had me jealous of a piece of fabric! How I would give everything to be sprawled there on her body, hugging every inch of her skin, breathing with every pore, caressing every forbidden spot.

She was sitting across from me at the table, during dinner, with her eyes looking down my cleavage with every sip of wine she was taking, glances becoming longer stares as she got more tipsy, almost exactly like that dinner that started it all, six months ago. When I caught her eye after she had it buried in my white skin, she shrugged and as her lips danced in an innocent smile, my heart shuddered and I found myself actually tempted to do it. It was the women's turn to clean up, which, I analyzed, would give me the perfect privacy I needed to make my move. I had spent days playing this fantasy's scenario in my head over and over, but I always thought it was just that: a fantasy. I had never even considered acting on it.

When the realization came that I had to make that step, I gulped more wine and deeply hoped my inhibitions were as easy to remove as hers. When we were done eating, I followed her as we cleaned the dishes from the table, and in the small hallway leading to the kitchen, I grabbed my guts with both hands before chickening out and leaned in to whisper those words into her ear.

"I've seen the way you look at me."

I still couldn't believe I said it, and as I tore myself away from her and moved ahead, my hands slightly trembling while holding the few dishes and going into the kitchen, I kept waiting for the sound of her movement, and I knew I had frozen her. Good for her. I was a hot mess and she was frozen. I thought for a second that we'd make a great physics exercise: find the final temperature when body A and body B are mixed together. I inhaled sharply and smiled as I picked up the conversation with the others, all the while my eyes riveted on the door frame, waiting for her to come in. She would be searching for my eyes, for answers to all the questions that would be swirling in her mind, and I was looking forward to denying her that pleasure.

I sensed, more than heard or saw, her come in and I instantly twisted around to the fridge, opened it, leaned forward to grab some beer bottles, giving her a perfect view of everything but my eyes. I felt her come near me, so without looking up, I handed her three bottles.

"Take them to the men before they start sobering up, God knows we'd all hate that!"

Two other womanly chuckles echoed in the kitchen, and my heart pinched because her laugh wasn't there. Did I mess up? Did I act too loosely and too quickly telling her I had noticed the improper chemistry between us? When she grabbed the bottles from my hand, I saw hers shaking, and I had to fight the urge to look up at her, hug, apologize and tell her it was going to be OK. I was too weak around her, I had anticipated it, so I knew I had to resist. She left the kitchen, the beer in her hands forcing her to go out as quickly as she came in. I stayed there for a brief moment, calming myself, before grabbing the remaining beer bottles and walking out to the patio. I distributed the bottles and sat on the edge of the large bean bag, next to Mark.

"You boys know how to act pretty when it ain't your turn in the kitchen!" I said, as I let my hand wrap around Mark's neck while the other layed on his thigh. I gave him a peck on his cheek, all the while feeling her eyes drill into my skull, willing my head to turn and look at her. Enough torture, I thought, and I spun my head directly to face her.

Goodness me, she was a mess! To everyone else, she might have looked normal, but I knew her too well to tell that she was having all sorts of internal struggles from the slouch in her posture and the frown in her eyes. I felt sorry for her and I had to exert all my self control not to fly to her. Then I noticed her ultimate discomfort tell-sign: she was twisting her hair around her index. There were other things I could think of that would twist perfectly around that finger. Darn. Stop thinking like this! I felt myself blush and prayed that the low lights wouldn't let her see it. It was already silly that I had lingered when I leaned in, she didn't have to see me blush. It all took less than a second then I gathered myself up and remembered I had to give her "the look".

I had studied my expression countless hours in front of the mirror, with the exact mix of mischievousness and carelessness. I tried my best to emulate that look. I wanted her to think I was flattered about her sentiments, but that I was neither disgusted nor interested. But boy did I know I was interested! As a matter of fact, it had been my only interest for half a year. Playful. Stay playful. Don't scare her away with an excess in any direction. I held her struggling gaze for as long as it was appropriate, sending back at her the shrug she had given me during dinner, then I finally shifted my eyes.

Slowly though, I saw her relax from the corner of my eyes. She still hadn't said a word since I startled her but she had stopped twisting her hair. She might have come to the conclusion that we'd pin it down on booze and summer heat, and maybe the full moon. Or she realized that I wasn't going to do anything about it.

"Let your guards down, sweetie, let them down, so you won't see the next one coming," the mischievous voice echoed in my head when she eased back into the conversation. But as her colors came back and I heard her giggle again half an hour later, I knew I was too doomed to pretend having any control over the situation. She had me.

--

"Chicken wings?" I asked her, as I passed on the food platters. She glanced up and shook her head.

"No thanks, I never really liked wings or understood the fuss about them," she paused then continued, almost to herself, "I love breasts though, I'd take that over a wing any day." I nodded and passed the platter on. That's when it hit me, the double meaning of what she just said without even realizing it.

I took my phone out and typed, "So you're a breast person?". Terribly mean, but it was too easy of an opportunity to pass on. I sent the instant message to her, convinced I might regret that impulse, but to hell with it, I'd worry about it later. Instant Messaging had been our secret communication tool for a few months, ever since the big debacle of the frozen roast-beef. We liked our neighborhood couple get together, but some jokes were better shared in private, and we had the same eye for details and quite a similar twisted sense of humor. So we IM'ed on our phones, when something funny, silly or weird happened.

She felt her phone vibrate and picked it up. I fixed my eyes on her, anxiously waiting for her reaction. It was only two days after the dinner incident but we hadn't mentioned it again and she had already let her guards down. She had a white summer dress on, with sunglasses propped on her head, holding some short hair strands. There was something about that casual look that snuck up on me and had me catching my breath when I first opened the door for her and Steven. Maybe it was the fact that she was even more stunning without make-up on, maybe it was the way she looked in white with her face beaming stronger, and maybe I just had it so bad for her that I was getting excited at the slightest thing.

She was sipping water while reading the message, a bad, bad idea, but it was too late to warn her. She coughed and almost spit out the water, glancing at me for a second then quickly locking her phone's screen before she went into another series of coughs.

"Honey, are you OK?" asked Steven, and we all stared at her as she calmed down and her cough roughly transformed into a weird laughter.

"It just (cough) hit me (cough) that I said (cough/laugh) I loved (laugh) breasts (giggle)," she squeezed out.

"You might wanna get a boob job Steven!" I instantly added and everyone burst into laughter.

"Ah Steven, you better do that fast or your woman will start hitting on ours!" my Mark echoed. That was followed by about fifteen jokes that went even more downhill from there.

While everyone was laughing, our eyes met several times, and while the first few were short and impossibly riddled with discomfort, we always seemed to gravitate back towards each other, and I eventually smiled at her hoping she'll forgive my distasteful joke. When she arched her lips in a half smile, I felt relieved then heard my phone beep.

"You ass!" she had written.

"I'm sorry, it was too easy to pass on," I responded and I inserted a winking smiley face. I might live to regret that joke's impulse, but at least we were OK now.

After lunch, it was the boys turn for cleaning up, so we moved away from the table. She walked to our swing couch and sat there, taking a grip from the floor then lifting her legs up as the swing began moving back and forth. There was a mesmerizing simplicity and delicate innocence about her, I didn't even notice I had moved towards her until I was standing almost in front of her. The others had joined us, and they threw themselves on the lounge chairs. I looked at the chairs then back at her, in a hazy debate between following my instincts or common sense.

"Swing with me," she said calmly, almost in a mixture of a whisper and a song, while tapping the couch next to her.

It was all I could take. I plopped myself down as close to her as I could without touching her. She started humming a tune, I moaned my fatigue over preparing lunch, and got the perfect alibi to nuzzle next to her and lay my head on her shoulder.

We continued swinging, slowly, almost nonchalantly, with her humming punctuating the stillness in the air. We could hear the distant sounds of the men talking in the kitchen and a dog's bark in the neighborhood, but they felt surreal, as my cheek caressed her shoulder, and her head leaned in on mine. I kicked my sandals off, and let my toes trail on the grass as we swang back and forth, then for a moment, i felt her leg next to mine. I didn't move away, waiting for her reaction. She didn't either. And we continued swinging, our legs barely touching, our heads entwined, with her humming, and the distant dog barking. We were out in the open, with two other women a few feet away from us, but it still felt like the most private moment ever. I reveled in that intimacy, in the little goosebumps I'd get everytime my toes touched hers, in the smell of her jasmine perfume, and the feel of her skin on my cheek. It was simple, easy, and erotic in its simplicity.

I wondered if she could hear how loud my heart was beating despite its calm rhythm, or how hard I had to fight my hand not to jump to her thigh, or how often I stopped my lips before they kissed her smooth shoulder. I wondered how many muscles it would take for me to spin around and sit in her lap and how much restrain I had to exert to stop them from doing it. I wondered if she was battling the same demons, or if we could win that battle if we joined forces. I wondered how innocent we looked in the eyes of the others, how outraged they'd be if only they knew what was going on in my head now, and if Mark or Steven would be turned on or repulsed by it.

Then I stopped wondering, I let myself go, my senses, my sanity, my control.

"I like this," I whispered almost inaudibly, vanishing in the laziness of her humming, and falling asleep.

I woke up ten minutes later, to the sound of the men coming back. They always waited for approval when they finished their chores, so I reluctantly raised my head from her shoulder and slowly applauded them.

Mark almost ran to me and leaned in for a kiss. I imagined them to be her lips holding mine, her tongue in my mouth, then I felt her foot brush more demandingly against mine. Mark was about to pull away from our embrace, but I bit his tongue and held him in place, not wanting to lose the feeling of the moment. Her hand slid between her thigh and mine, where no one could see her nails digging in the side of my pants. I was kissing my husband yet she made me feel like I was cheating on him. My whole body belonged to her, I was shuddering for her nails on my thigh and her toes on my leg. It felt unbearably teasing to know she shared the same temptations as me, but that this was the most intimate we had ever been. The sensation was becoming overwhelming, a sigh escaped me and Mark used this slight distraction to stand up, he probably thought that if we kept our kiss a while longer, we'd be putting on an adult rated show for everyone. He looked at me questioningly, wondering where that passionate kiss came from, I smiled innocently, then he backed off. And just like that, her nails and leg were gone. I suspected I was flustered so I used the alibi that I wanted to pour us glasses of ice tea and get some fruits in order to rise from the swing to breathe away from her, to think away from her, to be away from her.

While walking to the kitchen, I glanced over to my phone and saw I had an instant message notification.

"I like this too," she had written, about 13 minutes earlier. I smiled then frowned. Did I lose control over the situation? I was supposed to be the one steering this ship, but her transforming my breast remark into a group joke, her swinging and humming to me, her foot and nails against me when I kissed my husband... she was claiming back control and I knew too little how to stop her. Oh, who was I kidding? I didn't even believe I wanted to stop her. An easy win wasn't enticing, but her fighting and flirting back, that was exciting beyond belief.

"Need help?" I jumped, startled, not having heard her come in.

She was standing barefoot on the kitchen's floor, her disheveled hair coming into her eyes after she had removed the sunglasses holding it away. I cracked the ice cubes tray with all my strength and it was all I could do not to lose control and run to possess her then and there.

"Yes, grab the peaches and plums from the fruit drawer please," I half-stuttered.

I was putting the ice cubes in the glasses and I glanced over to see her bending in front of the refrigerator. Her buttocks stuck up in the air, her dress rising almost to the top of her thighs. If only she knew how good she looked! I wished I could freeze that moment and use it as my computer wallpaper, with the My Computer icon right in the middle were her thighs joined her buttocks. Everything I wanted access to, everything I dreamed of opening and exploring, was there. I shook myself then turned my head back and started pouring the ice tea in the glasses.

She came to me, holding the dish of peaches and plums in one hand, lifting a plum in her other hand and biting it.

"I stole a plum," she said jokingly. "Couldn't help myself".

I looked at her, there was a drop of dark red juice stuck slightly out of her mouth, I instinctively lifted my finger and wiped her lip.

"Wouldn't want anyone to know you're secretly stealing juices." I winked.

For a moment, she inhaled sharply when she saw my finger come near her lips then her whole face turned a red darker than the plums when she heard my reply, and I applauded myself internally over my fast reaction. She spun around and headed out to the garden. I followed her, and as I caught up behind her, my eyes drifted again to her behind, wondering where I'd put my Recycle Bin icon, as she was so perfect there was no garbage and nothing needing deletion or riddance in all of her. Halfway, I felt my phone vibrate and unlocked it.

"Stop staring at my ass."

I almost stumbled with the drinks and the glasses. How did she know? Most importantly, how fast was she bouncing back from all my discomforting remarks? It was less than 10 seconds ago that she had blushed to my words, and now she was kicking me back. Were we on equal grounds now? Would anyone win or were we bound to keep teasing each other, scoring one point each?

I debated answering her, "Not just your ass," or "Don't flatter yourself," but I didn't. I did not want to give her the satisfaction of an easy reply, I'd have my chance later.

--

"Interesting."

She picked up her phone and wrote back, "What?" then lifted her eyes questioningly at me.

We were playing a game of Scrabble, one week later, with Nicole and Sherry. She was facing me. It was weird that we'd always end up facing each other. Was it pure luck, or was she intentionally doing that?

I typed, "You're not wearing a bra."

That was bound to get her head spinning. I squirmed, took a sip of beer, waiting for her reaction. She stared at her phone for a while then raised her eyes again, confused. I smirked. She had a red top on, and some tight jeans shorts that went to her knees. I knew every single bra she owned, had memorized them all, but I couldn't find a sign of any of them today. Besides, her breasts were ever so slightly sagging. It didn't take a savant mathematician to add 1 + 1 and come up with an answer. It was her turn to play and she used the H on the Scrabble board to write HOW. Just the question I had been waiting for.

I could picture the angel and the devil battling over my shoulders for a brief moment. What I was about to do, there was no going back from that. Our innocent flirtations, the to and fro of naughty remarks, they would all take a different dimension if I moved ahead. I looked up into her eyes, into the sweet confusion spreading on her face, into the slightest hint of a cleavage I could perceive from her top, and for a moment, I saw in the glint of her eyes the reflection of the devil poking his fork into the angel on my shoulder. I was already too far gone for the angel to be battling on even grounds, let alone winning.

I slid my leg ahead then stopped when my foot touched hers. Her eyes instantly flew even more open. Say what you want, but foot seduction under tables is never overrated. It's corny, it's overused, but the hormonal surge of knowing you're doing and hiding something naughty with witnesses right next to you, is the best form of teasing and excitement there ever was. If someone pulled a stunt like that on me, especially with the sexy charged looks I was giving her, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't last sixty seconds before finding my rapture. Luckily for me, she didn't know that, so I got to be the attacker instead of the embarrassed aroused woman.

I maintained her gaze as my toes slightly brushed hers, then lifted further and further. I lazily, almost innocently, strolled my leg up, caressing hers, reveling in the smoothness of her skin and the naughty nature of the move. I reached her knees and my heart caught in my chest, knowing all too well that the direct skin contact ends there. Damn them tight shorts! I debated going over them or stopping there. My leg felt like it had a mind of its own, wanting desperately to go up, higher and higher, until it reaches the final destination, the secret landmark where no other woman's leg had ever been. However, my mind was trying to gain control and to stop things before it was too late.