by David Elder

Created on: March 10, 2009

Old blue eyes

You asked me for an explanation, and you will have it, but all in good time. I need you to appreciate how it all began. Perhaps then you will understand why I was driven to do what I did. I could only endure so much before something had to give. A man could probably never comprehend that. Women are too often perceived as weak and needy, don't you think? I feel fortunate to have another woman to confide in.

His eyes were the first thing that attracted me to him. They were dark blue with flecks of brown, and they seemed to change color depending on his mood. Others may have been drawn to his muscular build or his wavy auburn hair, but for me, it was always his eyes. When he looked at me and smiled it was like he was plumbing the depths of my soul. I think back to what transpired now, and realize that I was blinded by my obsession with him.

He was the type that women fawn over, and his male friends seemed to enjoy his company as well. Part of his popularity with the men was undoubtedly due to his Irish temper, which flashed at the slightest provocation, making any who offended him regret that they had ever opened their mouth. Men are such fools; too easily impressed with a display of bravado. Women on the other hand, become a different sort of fool when faced with such confidence and obvious allure.

I imagine that I was a challenge to him, because I never found any value in begging at the table for scraps. For me it has always been all or nothing. My love isn't easily earned, but once won, I am devoted to my lover. At first I was able to resist his advances, but his gentle persistence was eventually able to break through my defenses. And there were those eyes of his; compelling me to do things that I would never have imagined myself capable of.

Our lovemaking when it finally began was primal and raw, and I found myself cast into the fire of his passion, so consumed with his attentions that at times I would cry out in abandon. He was skillful to be sure, starting out slowly and coaxing me with his fingers and tongue, then building to a steady rhythm, and ending with a pounding frenzy, the memory of which still leaves me feeling tremulous and flushed.

His name was Brad, you know, like the small hard nail. He was much like that, sharp, angular, and penetrating. He overwhelmed my resistance and captured my heart. Unfortunately, it was not in Brad's nature to be faithful. Those wandering Irish eyes were soon pursuing other delights much more illusive than mine.

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