That look in your eyes was not sexual. Not exactly. This was before I knew a man could be aroused by the cascade of destruction that he set into motion, simply to punish me for some wrong i will never understand, because it is too complex or too subtle or too specific to your past and your way of thinking. And I didn’t see it coming.

I had met your hardness, before. Sought it, welcomed it, craved it, asked for it, thanked it, and asked for it, again. There were times I thought it was my greatest gift, that it owned me, or times that I thought that i owned it. But never before had it spoken with such power and certainty and disregard and sheer aggression. Never before had it sought to make me sorry or to make me afraid or to make me cry or to make me nothing. I did not know there could be so much energy in that particular act, in that assault with a friendly weapon. That arousal in you so potent, frightening. Sexual and yet something else entirely.

I will never forget that look in your eyes. Still, I search every lover’s eyes for a hint of that shadow, afraid of what it might mean. And I always find it. Even when it is not there.