She assumed I didn’t like or want eye-contact; that this was what I
expected. However, how can any connection form with the shades drawn on
what Thomas Phaer
called the “windows of the soul”?
Gently tilting her chin up with my thumb and forefinger, I whispered “Look at me.” This was new, maybe even difficult for her. She blushed… glancing… trying…
After
a beat, I moved both hands to her cheeks and motioned her up to her
feet. Staring intensely into her wide open eyes, I was as intimate as
possible. Mere inches. Peering inside her very essence.
We
stood there, lingering… and there we would stay until the experience
of my gaze burning into hers felt as natural to her as taking a breath.
Mischief's Muse 