You Observe Me

Your eyes. Your brown eyes with the grey circles that only show in certain angles and when the light hits them just right. Behind those glasses that perfectly accentuate those windows to who you are. They are always on me, your eyes. Observing me, loving me, commanding me, caring for me, undressing me, punishing me. Your eyes, always on me.

You observe me every minute of the day. You watch my every step, my every move. Even when you are not physically close, I can feel you, observing me. Your attention creates a net of safety. I am caught by you, but I don’t feel like a prisoner. You built a bubble of trust that we exist in together. I have never felt safer.

You observe me. You notice the slightest change of behaviour. You know who I am before I am even aware that I have changed. I don’t say a word but you know about the tears building up inside of me. I don’t utter a sentence but you ask me why I am anxious. I am tired but don’t yawn. You ask me if I want to lie down for a nap with you. You always watch me, you always observe. You know me better than I do myself because your eyes are on me, all the time. You are the scientist and I am the experiment. You have books of mental notes on my behaviour, my feelings, who I am. You know me, and I trust that you know how to improve me.

You observe me when I make mistakes. I know that all I need to do is to look up and your eyes will be on me, squinting, a smirk on your face. I blush when you see me. I feel like you have caught me and I don’t want you to see me being stupid. But you observe me, and your eyes tell me that I am going to be okay. That you believe in me sorting what I have messed up. Waves of trust, care, and support float through our bubble. Your eyes encourage me, your smile makes me feel confident.

You observe my happy moments. You smile and the love in your eyes gives me butterflies in my stomach. I look at you and I see you are happy because I am happy. Knowing that you are there, that your eyes are on me when I do something well, makes me feel so much better about my accomplishments. I can see how proud you are of me. I can see how glad you are that I succeed.

You observe me wherever we are. You see my reactions to the people around us. Your eyes are always on me. We are at a concert and I dance. I am lost in the music, my eyes are closed and when I open them, I see you. You are watching me. We are around people I don’t know and I feel unsafe. You look at me, squeeze my hand, and make sure that I know that you are with me, observing and making sure I am safe.

You observe my body. You read me like a book. Your eyes undress me, and you know exactly what movements and what changes on my face mean that I want you. You come closer, you touch me. Your observe my reactions, you always look at me. Your hands on me. The sweet pain you give me. Every squeeze, slap and punch, your eyes are on me. You know when I want more, when I need less. You have observed my body so many times, you know exactly what my movements mean, you know exactly what I crave.

Your eyes on me when you humiliate me. The sadistic stare when you watch me squirm. The smile on your face when you hear me scream. It turns me on that you observe me, that you watch me in the most embarrassing and most intimate moments. I have an orgasm and I open my eyes, and there you are, noticing the pleasure I experience, the pleasure you have given me.

I observe you observing me. I see the tears in your eyes when you can feel my pain. I see the smile on your face when I am happy or have done something well. The smirk when I have been silly. The dominant expression when I need to submit. The arousal on your face when my reactions turn you on.

Your constant attention makes me feel loved. It makes me feel safe, and cared for. I don’t feel nervous under your stare. I don’t feel like I need to be someone I am not. It makes me feel like you want to know me, everything about me. I am an object of desire. Your desire, for sex, for knowledge, for wanting to have me, and to help me be better.