mystery of control
She looks at me, eyes appraising. I smile back, give her my best bedroom stare.
“God, you have the most lovely eyes…”
“I’m just lucky that way, I guess”
Her eyebrows knit together for a split second.
“I don’t know what it is. Its not your sensuality. Its your control. Seeing you watch me, I’m watching eternity, divinity, I am your pawn. Its not a sexual thing. Its deeper, more primal than that.”
No one else is at my rack, so I dance in front of her as she talks. In her eyes is reverence, almost fear. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a fellow by one of the pool tables come over, bill in hand. I turn around, swing into a long graceful spin on the pole, and take the remaining steps to thank him. He’s somewhat more laid back, and quickly dodges back to his game.
She’s been watching the entire interaction. My gaze shifts back towards her even as I flirt with him. She lowers her eyes, but still watches. Her submission makes me feel powerful.
And for a moment, I feel the control she saw. I revel in the attention, and my own power. Because I’m NOT K, dancing bored on the other stage, barely making eye contact as she bends over in front of a guy. There’s an awareness to her, of her sensuality and her power, but not an intent. Not like I feel.
My song changes. Lords of Acid, the Power is Mine. Perfect.
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