Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
2010-10-25 06:11:51 (UTC)

Perceptions Wake

Perhaps one can imagine oneself in the slinking arm of a woman like
the one sitting in front of me at the theatre when I saw Casablanca
this evening. She wasn't gorgeous, but she was just that right amount
of pretty, alluring and winsome that the hairs on the back of my neck
rose ever so slightly as she draped her arm around the back of the
chair to rest on the shoulder of the guy she was with. He however
showed no more emotion of it than a mere acquiescence of the
inevitable and obliviously enviable position he was in. She spent a
good 20 minutes bantering back and forth with him, staring lustfully
into his shallow eyes, and for most of that time before the curtains
rose I found myself wishing fervently I was him, for I could have
stared into those brown orbs, licking my lips unable to repress my
need to taste those lips speaking to me in those hushed whispers she
was so tangentially pursing ever so close to his own, almost demanding
attention which were he me, were seemingly being uncharacteristically
ignored. In the end however, he smiled and leaned in, she devoured
him, and I too smiled, wondering if those brown eyes had seen me
licking my lips in a voyeuristic lust.