The Night We Locked Eyes (CH 3)
Nine minutes to fall in love. Ten minutes to miss the goodbye. Excerpt.
“To the boy with the bluest eyes and the brightest smile.
There is a sexiness seeping through your Mouth parting.
The widening of your lips echoing My Legs Opening.
I dive deep into windows of your soul,
swimming in the warmest ocean.
Your touch sends a bolt of lighting down my spine.
Igniting every cell in my body.”
Franceasca -October 28, 2019 , Private Journal Prose
A couple of nights after park, J planned a date at one of San Francisco’s iconic and his favorite jazz spots, The Royal Cuckoo. A shadowed jazz hideout tucked away in The Mission District. He picked it because he knew I’d love the vintage décor, the sultry air, the music. He was spot on.
J was the first man I’d dated who loved jazz. With my eclectic music taste, it almost felt like he was testing me. His thrill in unveiling places he thought I’d adore was one of his superpowers, one of many things that turned me on.
That smile, those baby blues cloaked in fake humility. He tried to hide it, but I saw through him. How couldn't I?”
Inside, the room pulsed with life. Young, old, queer, straight, regulars and newbies, all glimmering with that specific magic only cities like San Francisco conjure. The crowd added a textured warmth to the night.
We slid into a back booth, tucked beneath the low red glow. The band played, slow, smoky, and alive. Saxophone honeyed and aching, upright bass keeping time with the way we leaned into each other. Our martini’s barely touched. Laughter melted into the music. That corner wasn’t a booth anymore. It was a velvet pocket in time.
Our hands found a way to work around the booth. We kissed. His fingers tracing my leg, mine slipping gently over his. Intentional. Soft. A silent conversation in skin. We didn’t care about the PDA, which neither of us were accustomed to showing. We wanted people to be voyeurs, that our chemistry was relentlessly unbound and wild. Our laughter gave into the playful bond we created.
Later, back at his apartment, we sat on the floor of his balcony. I nestled between his legs, his long limbs wrapped around me like a protective frame. My back to his chest, his arms resting gently across mine. The city murmured below as our voices wove through childhoods and family; Miami for me, a small town near Knoxville for him. No southern drawl, but he still had that slow-burn cowboy energy. We were raised in opposite worlds, yet fascinated by each other’s triumphs. His University chapters and travels. My education and experience as an artist, a life built from instinct and fire. We took turns listening like it mattered.
As we got deeper into our history, my intuition gently asked a question. Asking him to reveal something private, he didn't have to respond and I acknowledged these types of conversation are reserved for months or even years down the line. He didn't mind, and revealed it to me in confidence. Out of respect I will not include it here.
There was something disarming about him, he could talk about shame without flinching. He was smart, self-aware, and seemed emotionally intelligent. He didn’t lie. He didn’t brag. He simply, shared.
I placed my hand on his, and said,
“I see you… and I feel seen by you. I don’t think I have ever said that in my life, to anyone.”
He didn’t say anything. He just held my gaze.
Like he needed to memorize it.
I wiped his tears and stayed still until he was ready to return.
Later, in bed, we kissed like it was the first time.
And the second.
And the third.
It wasn’t just chemistry.
It was cadence.
Timing.
Breath.
Even when we weren’t fucking, his hands knew how to speak to me, and my mouth knew how to reply.
Our bodies didn’t hesitate.
Our flesh intertwined in a dance, fluent as an ancient language only past lovers would know.
By the end of that weekend, it was clear: Our energies had created a frequency.
A quantum field.
No longer casual.
Not yet labeled.
It didn’t need one.
It had weight.
It had power.
And we both felt it.
We didn’t talk about what we were, not yet. It was still early.
But he texted me every morning.
He showed up when he said he would.
He listened.
Laughter became our foreplay.
Over the next six months, J became my world.
Until the storm hit…
With Lust,
Franceasca
To be continued…
Side Note: Only pieces containing explicit sexual scenes will have a paywall.
For those who believe chemistry can rewrite timelines -Subscribe.