The space is dark. Someone walks in and a door closes. Flipping of a switch is heard but no light bulb glows, the someone strikes a match, and a candle comes to life; a small, flickering glow; enough to reveal the someone’s face.

It is the Boy. He sees me, he blinks, he starts to walk towards me.

And, suddenly, I am not looking at him, I am looking through him, with him, from him, I am looking through his eyes.

He walks to the mirror, I am looking through him, and we both see his reflection, the reflection I have so immensely come to adore, illuminated by the faint, flickering glow of the candle. He was shirtless and handsome, his grey pant hanging dangerously low on his hips.

I know that his eyes are a deep blue, but now they were almost black. His thick mop of black hair was all gone with a newly shaved scalp in its place. His dark lush eyebrows were framed over his smooth set almond eyes; deep pools of dark blue, through which we were looking right now. His eyes were the most mesmerizing and what enchanted me the most of him.

A light fuzz of a day’s old beard sat unshaven on his sharp jaw. His thick lips whispered some word, almost painfully. I was now looking from mine own eyes at him, at my secret knight, my own secret dream.

At once, he held the mirror with both his hands and smashed his head onto the glass. The glass shattered with a sickening crunch and he drew back a bloody head.

He never saw me, he never sees me.

I had no control over me, I have wanted him for so long; I blew off the candle, pushed him down on the bed, pulled away his pants and threw it away.

I wasn’t wearing anything, seldom do I wear anything at all. I climbed on top of him and eased his manhood inside me. The darkness is my shroud, I am cloaked in it. I started gliding up and down rhythmically with him inside of me. He was looking at me, he was trying to see me, but he never saw me, he never sees me, he will never see me, I knew. But, he does feel me, I am completely sure.

My eyes see in the dark, they really see; but he never can.

Even in pain, his grunts of pleasure elevated me. I could shout as I want, no one ever heard I was sliding up and down more vigorously now. We were building up the pleasure, I was moaning ecstatically; his pleasure cries were sweet songs to me as his stiffness pounded me there, there where I so very much wanted it to. My release was near and so was his, we both came together, shuddering in rigour, exploding sweet sensations all throughout. I leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips. His lips were so soft and big, made for kissing.

He felt me, but he can’t see me. I hear him, but he can’t hear me. The lights came, and there I was, on top of him, draped over him like a vine, but he sees nothing. Still, he feels me. He tries to touch what he feels but is unsuccessful.

I don’t want to leave ever, but I must; so I ease out of him, and stare at his gorgeous naked body; sprawled on the bed, flushed and red, his head a bloody mess, broad of shoulders, long legs, tall and slender and yet muscular of limb and torso; his skin a soft copper, now covered with a fine sheen of shiny sweat, marked with all his scars that made him so special.

Confused at what he had just felt, and puzzling over the confusion he has been feeling for the past few months; brimming at the edge of madness, he gets up, and walks around the sparsely furnished room with that easy gait of his; as I stand there, doing all I can, not to pounce on him again.

Then suddenly, the room is all darkness again and pitch black.

And I, who sees perfectly well in the dark, all of a sudden cannot see.

Written by Ovindhi Perera
Illustration by DRG