The last 48 hours have been all enveloping, consuming, exhausting and a delightfully titillating time. It feels like one long night, the sort that wraps you in its seductive darkness and spins you round and round until you feel dizzy and disoriented.
It was the first weekend I’ve seen the husband in nearly two months. It was also the weekend of a long planned gathering of friends, including Moriarty and the economist. And so it was the first time I’d seen Moriarty since the day I sent him a link to this blog and outed myself to him. Such a strange scenario, to be sitting with the husband, one lover (the economist) and a man who knows about not only the economist, but also all of my other lovers. Perhaps, the only person at the table who knows the real ‘me’. There was little opportunity for physical touch or intimate conversations with the economist over the weekend. The odd gaze, or touching of knee under the table or hidden stroke in a shared nighttime taxi ride through the city. Never a moment alone. It was strange to see him talk with the husband, to watch them as their body language mirrored one another, trying not to let my gaze rest too long on his face.
And laced throughout these nights of drinking, talking, dancing, looking-without-touching, I kept catching his eye. Moriarty has a way of looking and communicating so much with just a glance. A fraction of a second when our eyes would meet and we both knew what the other was thinking. We share the same hunger, thirst, desires. We managed a few snatched conversations when the others were elsewhere or the din of the bar was loud enough to mask our conversation. There is so much I want to talk to him about. So many things I’d like to share with him. And then last night, sitting opposite him, between the economist and the husband, our legs touched under the table and we held one another’s gaze. He pressed his leg against mine, with a pressure that sent a bolt through my body and triggered a tingling in my sex. My breathing shallowed and I felt naked under his gaze. The rest of the bar, the people around us seemed to dim as I looked into his eyes. My god, I could have sunk to my knees, melted under his gaze. You see, he caught me off guard. Given his views on the economist, and sitting right opposite him, I did not anticipate his touch under the table. But what a touch. I took a photo of him as our legs touched. His eyes say it all. That gaze will haunt me in my dreams.