A Game with You

I would like to play a game with you... just you.

You... I have been watching you lately, have you noticed? The day you had went to the grocery store and spent a minute deciding between the type of crips you would like to purchase. I would have chosen the Tostitos instead of the Lays, but that's my preference. It hasn't been long since I have been engrossed by you, has it? From that moment I have been infatuated.

From a distance I could tell you have another deeper side to you, something more raw, primal, it was written within your eyes, you hide it incredibly well, at first, a more approachable face you allow yourself to wear, but we both know you like the sensation of eyes constantly on you, staring from afar, those insatiable thoughts swirling in your mind, isn't that so? I'm still learning your more about you, and your patterns.

Patterns... they seemed trivial until now haven't they, are you trying to remember if you have seen me prowling around you? I think you are. The way you find your perfect position to sleep as you toss through the motions, you know what you are searching for, yet you always seem to believe that there's something better before reverting back to your comfortable pillow embrace as you fall asleep.

Only to wake up to another aimless morning. I find it delightful that you get irritated when your alarm goes off, as if it was not you who had set the time, always pressing the snooze before grudgingly going about your morning routines. Standing there in front of your bathroom mirror, did anyone else notice how your eyes linger closed as you vigorously allow the brush to graze your teeth? Guess it's just me. The way you always stand in the same spot while changing into your underwear, or the way you brush your hair, how many strokes do you perform again?

Are the hairs on the back of your neck standing? I'm sure they are.

Let me help you find a time where it didn't go as planned, you had spoken to your co-worker in the parking lot before heading into work, what was her name again? That tight jeans definitely accentuated your attributes. Do you remember that day? I do. It was the same day that you had arrived late to your unsatisfying job, do you remember the reason? The power to your home had gone out sometime early in the morning, those comfortable autonomous motions you go through had now all but disappeared. I drank my coffee watching you being deprived of yours. Was that a coincidence? Or was the power turned off on purpose? Your daily patterns are your only coping mechanisms and they all vanished without warning. It made it so much more interesting not to know your movements.

Movements... the artform of female physique translation, that if done correctly can entice those around you towards elation from the rhythm of such an unspoken language. I particularly enjoy our times spent when you are walking, casually, without intent. Sometimes in your ankle-strap heels, sometimes in your flats, the movement all the same. how your hips sway from left to right, the way your knees bend, one foot in front of the other, your arms influencing your balance. do you find your feminine gestures attractive? I do.

Am I starting to make sense of it all now, as I continue to impose myself? Your actions can be gentle at times, when you gave up your seat for another that day, but they can also be selfish, watching you as you watch that homeless man on the street asking for help as you walk on by. Did you feel any guilt?

I quite relish the days when you are drained, weary, unable to move as you sink into your soft sofa. It's when I can truly concentrate on how your sub-conscious takes control of your body trying to find a way for your thoughts to softly disappear. those subtle changes, for instance, the way your right arm rests below your breasts, limp, to you, your arm is resting, for me, my appreciation of how you fill your lungs with air, each time you breathe in I can see how your chest moves, and with it, the way your hand extends that movement for my viewing pleasure.

Have you also noticed the way your fingers twitch ever so slightly, it's from your heart beating constantly. You are wondering how could I have seen that aren't you? "The only way would be if I..." yes you are right, I was that close to you, yet that doesn't influence my fixation.

Fixation... the oxford dictionary describes this noun to be:

a very strong interest in somebody/something that is unusual or not reasonable.

Did you know the meaning? I didn't, well that is until I met you, are you an unusual type of person? Are you known to have thoughts that are otherwise considered improper among the bodies around you? Or have I gotten it all wrong, and in fact my strong interest in you, is that, that is unusual? I know you to be quite interesting, don't you agree? So how could it be unusual for me to be obsessed upon a fascinating woman.

Although you might not seem to think so, the clumsy self of yours does add to your unique intrigue as well, even makes me smile from time to time, for instance, do you remember when you had taken a big sip of water only for it to go down the wrong way, coughing and gagging almost as if you were used to the feeling of choking. Sitting there going about your day, paging through some mundane work, when your tummy grumbles as you look up to see if anyone had noticed, you might in fact caught a glimpse of me being that close to you that day.

You must be asking yourself what is it that makes you that interesting, correct? Well, this is not a job interview, we aren't searching for the perfect candidate, are we? I find it irresistible when you do those little things in life that might be invisible to others, might even be invisible to you unless it was brought to your attention. That sudden breath you take when you hear the first raindrops of a storm or the way you roll your eyes at ones' lack of intelligence or the way you immerse yourself in hidden thoughts while steaming hot water runs down your soft smooth sensual skin while in the shower. I wonder what goes through your mind in those moments, do they enhance your senses?

Senses... how many of them do you take for granted? I believe that they can be quite powerful when you immerse yourself in them, without expectation, I have watched how yours' in particular defines your inner most identity. Specifically, right now, are you trying picture how does my voice sound, it's quite complex the intention of adding sound within ones' mind, is that not so? eager to hear each and every pitch that sounds appealing to you, how do I sound to you?

Deep and rough or is it polished and refined? Have you given me an accent, is it from the language you always wanted to learn? Or the familiarity of my words appears to be a voice you have heard before? Maybe you have also resolved my voice to a comfortable pace from which your eyes move from word to word, your brain trying to comprehend what is to be true. do I articulate the pronunciation of each word to your liking, lingering each vowel seductively or do I appear louder more controlling in acceptance?

By now it's safe to say that you have already figured out that I have heard your voice, captivating. You have me enthralled with each word that escapes those soft tender lips, smooth, as you roll your r's, harmonious to my ears allowing me to enter a state of rapture each time.

The melodic transition from each syllable as you continue expressing your point of view, yet as always you are cut down, often, be an external overpowering tone. I see how that affects you, the way you internally crawl up into a small ball as you creep into a delicate state. your voice being stolen from you. As if your words, not to matter anymore. Closing your eyes to escape the presence of your reality.

How would you describe colours that you see when your eyes are closed in those moments? Are they as black as the night sky or have you entered a fantasy world in which the bright colours mask the realism you have come to know about your life? Sight, your eyes darting across each line of text.

Are you wondering how could I know your inner most suffering that you endure? Which tell are you performing right now, the way you bite your lower lip? or do have your fingers rubbing against them? Have you taken in that deep breath, as the recognition slowly starts to consumes you.

I've always been within your peripheral vision, watching those stolen glances of yours, the facial expressions you conjure, when deep in thought, oblivious to your surroundings, eyes lingering out of focus, the constant feeling of loss, hoping to be seen, further than what you see.

More than just the image you see when you turn around during the night, contemplating upon your reflection, that is your shadow. you are paying attention now though, aren't you? What do you see? Have I captivated your imagination so much so that you are willing to be vulnerable with this stranger.

For I know how reclusive your vulnerability can be, only shown in the most intimate state. You prefer to express your feelings in this way. Distraction, have you realised it as yet? The way you tend to interrupt your feeling of longing. Those sweatpants that you use to sleep in, pulled down, the waistband resting around your thighs, to me, still looks insatiable on you, it's when your self-esteem is at its lowest that I see your appearance, radiant. You might not feel alluring, the value you perceive your worth to be, insignificant, it is however when I get to see you interact with yourself. The way you start to rediscover yourself with such sensual touch.

Observing the moods' you tolerate while you lay on your bed, annoyed, that nothing on your phone can satisfy your increasingly growing hunger within. Frustration written all over your active facial expressions, knowing you require a release from the motionless day you had experienced. I glared from a distance, as you placed your phone next to you, letting your hands roam against your seductively succulent body as you started to enter a world, your world, filled with what I could only imagine is the most erotic fantasies that reside deep within your mind.

That cage you kept those primal thoughts of yours, seeping through your ability to please yourself, what are they? Would you share them with me? Would you leave me clues in your daily routine now knowing that all my devotion is on you. Do I need to convince you further?

I think you should need more convincing, watching how you have been treated all along by others and they way you despise their touch. Still, would not distract me from attentively making mental notes of how you admired the feeling of your fingertips gliding around your tummy, salaciously stimulating your sensitive smooth skin, the way you wanted to be appreciated but only archived by your own embrace.

Should I have been that charming gentleman you once dreamt about long ago, and looked away? Before knowing that I existed, I'm sure you would have agreed, wouldn't you? However, are you silently urging me to continue describing the way you worshiped the sense of your own touch from my vantage point? I'm starting to believe so.

When it's just you, alone, without the idea of perpetuating a standard of being desirable to others, you lose the concept of being self-conscious, letting yourself appreciate those moments when your body and mind align for one specific goal. Your right-hand cups your tender left breast as you began to squeeze your firm flesh, I watched as your head tilts back slightly, your lips parted from each other letting out what I could imagine was a soft sensuous moan.

I could see how the muscles of your arm contract as you massaged yourself. Your awaiting hand slowly moving to your lips, your index finger rubbing your lower lip before biting your nail. All while continuing to build the sensation of pleasure as you started to place your thumb and forefinger against your nipple, pulling her from your body, relishing the feeling of pain, that smile on your face acknowledging that the normal numbness your body experiences, forgotten.

Your right-hand graciously dragged across your skin towards your right firm breast performing the same irresistible practice. Fingers spread across embracing your breast once more before pulling on your hard protruding nipple, squeezing her as you let out another moan.

The way your intention changes the deeper you breathe, you had waited until you reached this desired phase, then only letting your fingers slide down your body, each finger spread apart as they make their way between your legs.

At first you floated those fingers of yours over your daily cotton underwear that you feel comfortable wearing, attentively allowing your fingertips to graze upon the fabric, you prefer the sensitive nature in the way you feel pressure against your skin, don't you?

I watched as you let your wrist rest against the top of your mound, gently starting to rub the soft fabric against your lips, the cotton changing in colour, spots appearing, darker. I noticed how you tend to enjoy a certain pace, your ring and middle finger moving over your lips, rubbing her as the tips of your fingers disappear between your legs only to watch as your knuckles extend upward when you reach your clit.

Your left-hand at first rested next to you, however you start to play with your breasts once more, cupping your entire breast as you slowly squeeze upwards, reaching your nipple you started to become more adventurous, twirling your forefinger around her, pushing her inward, trying to create sensations of both pain and lust.

You were ready, the fantasy being played in your mind getting more and more intense, seen from the way you licked your lips more prominently. My watchful admiration that day indulged in the sight of your fingers slowly entering underneath the waistband of your underwear, your facial expression revelled when you scratched against the impression made by the tight-fitting elastic on your skin.

Finally, I watched as you spoilt yourself as you moved your fingers in a concentric motion, as the cotton covered most your hand, did you start with your clit first? Or was it over your outer lips? All I could admire was the gasps of air between each moan and scream you had made. Arching your back as your legs spread apart, your knees in opposite direction from each other, unquestionably rubbing your pussy vigorously, do you like it if I referred to your vagina that way? Do you prefer these types of eyes you desperately wanted to be constantly on you? Being able to see the true you, picking you from the crowed that otherwise consumes you?

Should I leave you wanting now, I think I will. This is still a game remember, have you figured out the rules as yet? Does that that leave you with a bitter taste?

Taste... have I left yours unfulfilled? Its quite unique how you can tie an emotion to a certain reaction to that you have experienced, ain't that so? Bitter with disgust, sweet with joy, bland with depression. Which taste would most describe you, you would be succulent to my taste buds either way. Did you know that certain tastes are strongly tied with memories?

Which memory entered into your mind at this moment? The one for me was the day ordered takeout from a new restaurant I had not seen at your door before. I watched intently as you took a bite of that particular meal and was transported on a journey to your distant past, was it a happy one? Like the times you spend during nights out with your friends, family, enjoying the ambiance of the air, allowing your body to move with the music, or did you journey to a past filled with despair and anguish, like the time you spent crying after that phone call, you looked miserable, tears running down your soft cheeks.

You closed your eyes savouring that first bite, those around you unaware that you travelled elsewhere. I noticed though, does that scare you? Figuring out this much about you just by the way you interact with the world. Well, I haven't been truthful with you. I had taken a few items of yours, nothing of importance or value, just items that you may or may not know have gone missing. A pair of your cotton panties that was left in your laundry basket being one of them. I'm no perv assure you, however the natural fragrance of yours, rousing. This time the last sense would belong to me I suppose.

Smell... the sense of aromas that hits you when you least expect it, it is the one I most admire as there is no quality that can be placed on its own character. Also, a form that presents itself through the ability to define memories, I'm sure the days you spend rediscovering yourself tends to leave a certain scent lingering in your room, doesn't it? I could conjure up another round of an emotional whirlwind within you, I have plenty of examples of you taking a deep breathe in capturing a particular scent to memory, however the one I would like you to know, is about how spellbinding your own essence can truly be.

Pheromones, a chemical released by one organism to induce a certain behaviour in another, you might be asking yourself why I am telling you all of this correct? Do you believe in love at first sight? I've come to understand, that instantaneous action or reaction doesn't spontaneously occur as one might assume. I've watched how you become immersed by another, while walking on the street, sitting in a restaurant, but mostly on those nights out, when you feel hot, sweat accumulating over your entire body, those are the days you are most susceptible towards attraction.

Do you see why the sense of smell being able to capture a scent is so admirable? It can alter an entire destiny without it ever making itself known. Being drawn to someone just be the fragrance they wear or the shampoo used to wash your hair, or the essence of someone's used underwear. It lingers for an eternity as I travel through time.

Time... one of the only few truths that we can't hide from, wouldn't you agree? The measure of our existence, the life we have, and will live. Does your time spent breathing have any significance? Or do you feel small in the larger scheme of everything, everywhere? you should know by now that I have already studied you in those times where for moments you looked as if you were suspended in time, that breath held in, those eyes closed, nothing but silence. Where do you find yourself in those situations, I try to solve this indefinite process of existence that you cling so hard to, but have no conclusions.

Are the feelings of such a stolen instant calming, soothing? Or are they consumed by torrential frailty? I must admit getting to know you this way can be frustrating at times, unable to read your thoughts, your desires or ambitions. Just letting time travel pass you, like a stranger walking by.

With someone or without, the feeling of love tantalisingly so close you can almost kiss it, almost. But you sit this as another sunrise and sunset escapes your vision. Yet you smile, always smiling, hiding the misery with each second that passes by. Are you truly happy? What should this unbreakable force we know as time try and accomplish for you? Heal those wounds? Erase those memories? Cease to exist all together?

It has given me a rare gift, the ability to fantasize about you all the time, it is selfish I know, that you are the centre of my space and time paradox and that I am just a question mark in this fantasy. I'm sure you would love to know what I imagine you to be, wouldn't you? The dreams I have of you where time does not follow any games or rules.

I had a dream about you... only you.

It's quite peculiar how a series of thoughts can turn into still images that then play collectively in a sequence that develop sensations which induce emotions.

In my dream I stand in front of your door, slowly turning the handle, slipping my way into your home. Walking a few steps, I finally glance at the sight of my fixation.