Pass The Butter
It's not often a man stops what he's doing to notice, much less comment about jewels. So when I notice a man's eyes stumble upon old mine brilliance, the color of summer corn, I take note.
What's the angularity of his stubbled jaw? When he looks my direction, and our eyes meet, what are his shoulders' body language? The way his mouth parts, in a lazy effort to say something, what is he not saying? Of all the words at the tip of his tongue, what is he most ardently unwilling to share?
What, I wonder to myself, does it feel like to feel his masculine hand at the back of my neck? Such a wonder. I can feel my eyes being massaged, watching him drag his hotel napkin across his fingers, blotting away the oily residue of smoked oysters. He presses the woven cotton to his mouth, and as I watch--transfixed, hoping that he won't notice, yet hoping that he will notice--I imagine more than I had expected.
Trickery of the mind, you see is such an elixir. Far, far away from the table in a sweaty enclave, is where I see us. It's the experience of feeling him with only a delicate sheath of silk to separate us. What draped my body, now, slipping away like water between his fingers. The sudden surge of gardenia alerts me. It's warmer than it was a moment ago. Betteridge 12.10 Carat Fancy Intense Yellow Diamond Ring