Stop staring at me

Not one of us said stop staring at me

My right hand on her thigh,
We lie in bed in a euphoric state, high.
She’s looking at me directly, right in my eyes.
A smile on her face; it comes as no surprise.

Her breathing is still a bit heavy,
Mine too, but mine is less, maybe.

What started as a flirtatious conversation,
Turned into a dinner invitation,
And then into a confrontation,
Between intense attraction
And the temporary reservation,
Of thoughts and feelings that are mutual.

That is until I did my usual.
I don’t know if it was her seductive ways,
Or maybe it was the wine,
But I didn’t hesitate to cross the line.

I spoke my mind,
My hands cupping her behind.
And she moved in closer,
A confirmation of what was now in order.

I said I’m feeling cold,
And she gave me her other hand to hold.
What happened next was just incredible, truth be told.

And now we are remembering it.
Trying to understand it, staring at each other.
We are both doing it,
And we are enjoying it,
But none dares say it…

“Don’t stare at me.”