One man

To one man, I want to be known in a way that I have never been known before. I think he remembers every detail of how I taunted him, sometimes in a subtle manner, sometimes more overtly, ignoring the ragged breath, his hunger, treating him as just 'the friend.' I ignored all warnings and pigeon-holed him in my mind; as a fascinating weirdo whose brains I could pick for my own personal entertainment. I want him to know that I used him for this purpose and that after weeks of 'friendship' building I had also built my own agenda. And I tell him that. And he looks at my triumphant face and I expect a look of shock tearing at his normally cool, calm and collected features. But there's none of that there. Just a smile, a knowing smile. Not even polite laughter which would later turn to rage. I watch him from across a little table as he decides my fate trying to discern the how, the why and the when. I don't believe, although he has talked, that he has the guts to actually carry anything out. But in any case I start thinking fast for a plan to put his plan to shame. But the wine is too fine, the music divine, and I've crossed my line. It's late and we get up to leave. I want him to notice how the wind blows my long black waves into my face, I want him to move the hairs aside and see my face, my dark eyes canvased on a milky-white face, under arched over-plucked eyebrows which deceitfully make my eyes bigger. And he does, and looks into those eyes, looking for the last time into the eyes of a girl about to be branded, intoxicated with desire. Because He knows now, it's His call and none other's. The night is young. Another chapter has begun...