Lust

I can’t help picturing you naked whenever I see you.

Whether during the day, when you come by to play with my sister, or when I lay in bed at night staring at the cluster of stars beyond my window. I gaze at the moon and it’s your face I see staring down at me. Expressionless. Sometimes I spot a twitch in your lips but cannot tell what it means or foretells. Or maybe I’m too young and naive to devine its meaning.

I sense an itching in my groin. My hand slides into my shorts and I feel relaxed and warm as I begin playing with myself. I play with myself while still imagining your face on the moon watching me, goading me to carry on with my action.

Is it desire? Could it be a thing called lust that drives me near insane to look at you when you’re turned away?

I have no idea when or how this sense of urgency began attacking me. And I am way too immature to probe its findings. I do know, however, that everytime I struggle to glance at your direction, making eye contact with you is like me gazing directly at the sun. I feel sudden tightness in my gut, like I’m about to pass gas, except I’m too scared to attempt the act. My cheeks glower, and if I’m in the midst of conversation, my lips suddenly dry up and I start to stutter. What is this devilish magic you have over me, I wonder.

There is a nervous feeling that washes over me whenever you come by the house. That other day, I was kicking a ball with my friend in the yard while you and my sister gossiped about whatever; I know you aren’t conversing about dolls. I noticed you’d glance towards our direction. I would momentarily blink and turn away like I’m about to get caught. My friends and I have often talked about you. Always I am careful not to give off too much information, what little I know about you.

Is it desire? Could it be a thing called lust that drives me near insane to look at you when you’re turned away?

I imagine you lying in bed asleep, possibly hugging a teddy bear next to your head. I try to picture the serenity of your face while you dream. I picture myself inserting into your dreams, exploring the universe of your mind. What wonders could I possibly find?

It’s times such as these when I wish I were an adult. Imagine me taller (as tall as my older brother), broad-shouldered, full of stomach abs and arm muscles, sporting a goatee (or at least evidence of one) with a baritone voice deep enough to unleash goosebumps across your arms when I speak. Imagine me approaching you, wanting to ask you out on a date, would you deny me then? Would you pretend you don’t see me? I’ll bet my sister would talk you out of giving me a listening ear, but then I’d imagine you utilising your female intuition and say yes instead.

Picture me pulling up to your front door in a fancy car. Your Dad walks you out and tells me to have you back home at nine. You blush, wishing you’d spend the night with me. I imagine you resting your head against my shoulder while I cruise towards the beach, soaking up the night while a strong breeze ruffles your hair . . .

I have so much to say but cannot yet, as I am much too young of age, befuddled by these strange thoughts of imagination I have towards you. Possibly they lack descriptive words. Perhaps they are meant to remain as such. Hopefully someday, when I’ve come of age, I can readdress them and then maybe you can help explain what it is I carry in my head.

Until then . . . until then, this thing called lust remains as I continue to look away.