THE LOOK IN HER EYES (I.P.)

The look in her eyes told me everything.
From the instant I’d walked into the living room and found them on the sofa.
The distance between them was perfect, a perfect seven inches.
Sterile, innocent, politic, polite.
A pronouncement of all it was not.
Was his cock a perfect seven inches too?
The look in her eyes told me everything.

"I'm glad you got back early" she’d said.
Louder, more painful, were the words she didn't say.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

Before my inconvenient arrival, had he hovered seven inches above her?
Was the hem of her short summer dress seven inches north of her thighs?
Were her panties, virginal white yet harlot damp, seven inches below her crotch?
Had they stared, unspeaking, into each other’s faces?
The look in her eyes told me everything.

Had she gasped as he slipped his cock into her pussy, narrowing the gap between them?
Had she writhed in ecstasy as seven became four, became one, became nothing?
Had he known the exact moment she’d climaxed?
The look in her eyes told me everything.

‘Look, I gotta go,’ he said. ‘We’ll catch up later.’
‘Yeh, fine,’ I said.
‘Yeh, fine,’ she said.
Louder, more painful, the words she didn't say.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

Yes, she wanted to catch up with him real soon.
Yes, she wanted him to push her dress once again above her waist.
Yes, she wanted him to once again rip her panties down to her knees.
Yes she wanted all of his perfect seven inch cock once again inside her.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

The gap between them on the sofa was seven inches wide: it spoke of betrayal.
His throbbing cock was seven inches long: it spoke of uncontrollable lust.
The kitchen knife in my hand was seven inches in the blade: it spoke only of death.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

Seven was so many things.
It was the number of years she had thrown away.
It was the distance in miles before I’d totalled the car.
It was the number of months I’ve been awaiting trial.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

She was unrepentant almost to the end.
She’d despised me for being a weak cuckolded man.
She’d laughed at my failings in bed.
She was glad she’d finally been caught out.
She’d said all this without speaking.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

At last she’d begun to feel fear; the fear of what comes after.
At last she’d begun to feel guilt; the guilt at what had gone before.
At last she’d begun to understand the consequences; the price of all she had done.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

Then it was I who’d hovered seven inches above her.
The hem of her short summer dress was indeed above her waist, but only because she’d struggled to escape me.
Her panties, though not around her knees, were indeed damp, but only because she’d lost control of her bladder.
We’d stared, unspeaking, into each others faces, but only because there was nothing left for us to say.
The look in her eyes told me everything.

She’d gasped as I slipped my blade into her chest, narrowing the gap between us.
She’d writhed in agony as seven became four, became one, became nothing.
I knew the exact moment she died.
The look in her eyes told me everything.
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copyright DM Pamment 28th November 2010