Caged Nightingale

20 Atif

There is something explosive about the effect Saara has on me.
She continues to blindside me. Just when I think I know her, she reminds me that i don't. She is confident, self assured and totally crazy on a hotness level that is off the charts.
Last night. The cinema. Fuck.
When i said i would maker her want me, i made the mistake of thinking i could control her some how. Make her feel affection, desire, lust and need me. Instead she's managed to somehow turn me into the addict. She is this ethereal creature who is literally not from this world. I cannot explain what happened last night in any other way. The way she behaves blows my fucking mind.
When i put my fingers inside her, i wanted to show her i could satisfy her. I wanted her to remember me when she touched herself or drive her crazy till she begged me to take her. Instead. I got my ass handed to me. She has managed to fuck with my body and mind. And what's more- i enjoyed it. Watching her, watch me. Fuck.
The flush of perspiration along her forehead, her head thrown back, the taste of the skin on her neck. Shit. I'm hard just thinking about it.
But its the confidence that is a total aphrodisiac. The fact that she knows what she wants and what she needs to please herself. And if that kiss is anything to go by: well, I've never kissed anyone like that. It was the most erotic thing i have ever experienced. It felt like she was giving me a blow job. That tingling sensation from the flick of her tongue sent electric shocks down south.
How did she manage to mess with my head so much? She is definitely a mistress of seduction. Every gesture. Sound, look -drove me insane.
Now, as she turns onto her side in bed, still asleep. Her top slips to the edge of her shoulder exposing the skin. There is a yellow bruise creeping over the precipice of it.
A shadow along the side of her throat where there was a scab last week.
My chest seems to expand at the sight of it. She is fallible, scarred and so so beautiful for it. Wearing these blemishes without fear of them diminishing her. She is stunning. Most women I know have insecurities about pretty much everything. Weight, skin colour, white hair, ageing. The list goes on and on and yet here is this woman who looks breathtaking with all her imperfections, she is even more perfect than the woman she was at the restaurant- who had seemed polished to perfection.
I listen to her soft rhythmic breathing and feel overwhelmed and humbled by her presence in my life. She's better than the idea,which i had secretly kept alive all those years -and that rarely happens. Most realities are disappointing when compared to the idealised dreams in your head. But saara is so much much better than my imagination. My greatest fear had been whether i wouldn't be able to appeal to her intellectually or wouldn't be cultured enough for her. Whether she would be self entitled, proud, aloof and patronising.

But we just seem to fit. she's smart sweet, logical, down to earth. Everything i could have hoped for.
Do i want to sleep with her? Absolutely. But i want her to want me as a person more. Otherwise I'll just be that guy she once had 'a thing with that one time.' I dont want to jeopardise the potential relationship we could have by moving too fast.
I didn't think it was possible to like her more, but last night has just proven i have loved a dream version of Saara that never did the real one justice.
My biggest fear now is that i will have to reconcile myself with the fact that ive made her a promise, (one that will kill me), which i must honor regardless of how i feel. I've learned to take what i want, whenever i want- but i cant seem to escape the echo of her words from last night, that she's 'never like this with other people.' It makes me want to do the right thing. For her. To her.
It hurts a little. No it hurts a lot. In a another month she'll be a memory. Again.