Signs

Someone else might look at you and miss the signs. But, I don’t even have to see them. I feel your eyes on me, demanding action. It’s up to me to figure out what that might be, which usually leads to a moment of fluttery panic inside…what does he want…what should I do…what if it’s wrong…. 

You’re somewhat patient, I’ll give you that. But, you’re unforgiving. If I don’t get it quickly, I’m likely to end up over your knee, paying for it in pounds of hot, blushing skin.

So here we are, on the couch in our sweats, your gaze shifts suddenly, and my body, trained to hyper-awareness, begins to tingle awake. I feel the rise in my chest, like any prey might attest, that loud and insistent fight or flight instinct screaming…which one?! 

I sense your imminent movement, without turning my head. I look at your glass…does it need refilled? I check the lights, the doors, the television screen for something that needs doing. But failing to find anything, I do the only thing that comes to mind.

I scoot over on the couch, look up at you, hopeful, and nuzzle into your side.

Your body slackens, taking me in.

Having made the right call, my own body softens in response, relieved and proud to have read the situation correctly…until next time.

(227 words)

(photo source: Ro Molina via Friday Flash)