Best Bondage Erotica 2 by Alison Tyler

Author:Alison Tyler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2010-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

Leered At

Debra Hyde

I remember the first time a grown man leered at me. Not a college student or an early thirty-something, but a real adult, someone my father’s age. Someone who should’ve known better and probably did, but chose to lust after me anyway. It happened the summer before I left for college while I was hanging out at a pool party with my best friend. I’d just turned eighteen. We had wandered in from the pool for the snack table, unaware as we passed the bar that the adults’ consumption of highballs had surpassed frat house kegger dimensions.

That’s when I noticed my girlfriend’s uncle. His face was slack from too much drink, but his eyes had narrowed and a sly grin had crept across his face. Lurid, the look was unmistakably lurid. And it was aimed right at me.

That look—his look—was so penetrating that I felt like he knew my every secret—like whether boys had already parted my legs—and it suggested he had his own secrets, like the unsavory possibility that he knew even better than those boys how a man could part my legs. Ultimately, his leer told me that he’d like nothing better than to have a go at me.

I was stunned, instantly humiliated, so ashamed that for the eternity of a split second I froze in a clichéd deer-meets-headlights trance. I blushed so hard, it hurt. I prayed that his niece, my best friend, didn’t notice his drunken leer—or my embarrassment. It was all so lump-in-the-throat disturbing and repulsive.

“Meet me outside,” I told my girlfriend. I fled the room with, I hoped, some measure of grace to conceal my plight. But my every step felt clumsy, leaden, and weighed down by my shame. I could only assume success because no one questioned my behavior.

In the fresh air of the cool evening, the blush of humiliation faded from my cheeks and my racing heart slowed. But a rush of anger followed on its heels and I grew as livid as that man had been lurid. My anger was so potent, I shook uncontrollably.

There, in the coming darkness of midsummer’s eve, I vowed to myself if a man ever leered at me again, I wouldn’t let it go uncontested. I’d glare back and stare him down. No one else would ever have the upper hand again.

Or so I thought. In the coming years, my vow would protect me from men but not from my own fantasies. You see, I never forgot his leer and I often recalled the moment I spied it. Then, in the privacy of my fantasies, I enacted my vow and stared him down. My own eyes would narrow; my lips would slip into slyness. I would up the ante rather than diffuse the moment. In my fantasy, we’d slip away so I could reveal to him my brazen and knowledgeable self. In my fantasy, I was forever eighteen, but in real time I was forever aging and my past shame had transformed itself into pure thrill.

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