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Coup D’état

There are many parts  of a woman’s body that cultivate desire: the mouth – so capable of bestowing pleasure, delicate breasts, peaked nipples, the curve of an ass, and obviously the moist folds of a pussy. But have you ever considered just how enticing a pair of eyes can be?  Of all the body, eyes have the strongest voice. 

My eyes love talking and often refuse to behave. Sometimes they whisper coy flirtations, sometimes they demand “fuck me” and sometimes, they taunt and tease, employing the shift of a shoulder and the tilt of a head to extract the attention they crave. In fact, my dark brown wandering eyes were the first feature that captured Luke’s attention when we met. 

And no matter how resolved I may feel at the beginning of a night to contain this seductress that peers out from within me, my eyes never comply, unable to resist the sweet temptation of being temptation itself, of casting their glances toward people I find particularly attractive and enjoying the looks I get in response, the repeated return of eyes that whisper of burgeoning desires, eyes that are now unable to resist another drink of me. Alas, my eyes have a mind of their own.  

Sometimes they say “hey, you there. We see you, and we think you’re hot” this said with a pretty smile and a tilted stare. 

Often, especially when at a club, they say, “I want you to want to fuck me.” This said with a toss of the hair replete with a glance over a shoulder or a straight intense stare, lips slightly parted, and sometimes a knuckle brought up to bite. 

These eyes, these looks are the crowning jewel in my erotic chest of treasures. And try as I might to subdue them, to confine them safely within the limits of “appropriate” and “respectable” behavior, they rarely listen. 

“Why live within the dim confines of the patriarchy?” They protest at my attempted censure. “We are two succubuses of desire, and we are very hungry, hungry for the longing stares cast in our direction from eyes we wish to devour.” They caw in unison. Oh these eyes and their wants, so desirous of being the dominant ones, the hunter, not the hunted.  

Partial face of a beautiful woman.


So, let me tell you a story, a story where the prime protagonists are these deep brown, obstinate and wild eyes of mine. 


It was a Thursday night in a city far away from home.  My body wanted fun,  and so I went out.  

My eyes approved of the image the mirror reflected, hair wavy from braids undone, my makeup applied just so, the new dress slightly sheer, letting just a hint of the pink panties I wore shine through the silver of the woven fabric. I felt hot and as the many reactions I would garner later implied, I was.  

They started, these eyes of mine, to awaken and rebel on the walk from my hotel to the club, searching, as the warm breeze tousled my hair, for a body to cast the net of their stare over, a fish to hook with a sparkle of dark irises and mascara laden lashes, two men, waiting at the crosswalk, their first victims. 

Then, there was the bouncer who checked my ID and made sure to give me his name. 

“If you need anything, let me know.” 

“Oh, we need” eyes sang “We need your calloused hands on our hips, on our ass.” 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” My mouth, compliant, said as I entered the club. 

At the bar, staffed by three men, my eyes continued their murmurings. 

“What drink do you recommend? I’m not from here,” I asked. 

“Would you like to drink us? Drink us from these black heels all the way to our wet panties” my eyes murmured, trying to drown out my more appropriate voice. 

Then a voice, loud and intrusive, echoed next to me at the bar. A woman who by all appearances was lit as fuck. She shouted at the bartender for a drink, threw a wadded up napkin at him when he didn’t respond, and then proceeded to tell me about this man she’d just met while playing pool, and how she wanted to kiss him, was going to kiss him.  She’d shown him her titties because she’d lost the game of pool, and he’d showed her his chest when he lost. Her eyes were glassy yet full of fire, and her loud persona momentarily distracted my eyes from their hunt, their game of capture and release. 

“Man, life is short, you know what I’m saying” said the girl who I’ll call Loud Lisa. “I’m divorced and I’m just living life doing me now, you know. Life is short, you have to live it.” She told me before yelling again at the bartender. She was in my personal space, and my eyes glanced apologetically toward the bartender who she kept harassing. Eventually Loud Lisa left to go in search of the man who she was determined to kiss and my eyes drifted back to the bartenders’. At this point,  my eyes were one drink in and ready ready to play. 

“You know,” they whispered across the space to the bartender, “I’m here all alone, and we know that you’d fuck us given the chance, fuck us behind that bar even, on it perhaps,” a turn of the lips at their delicate edges and a few sultry stares, the slight bite of a lip. My eyes are provocateurs. Never content to party on their own, they always rally accomplices to aid in the fulfillment of their unladylike flirtations.

A while later, I felt hands on my hips, unexpectedly. It was Loud Lisa again, returned to tell me how “Man we macked hard in an alley.” My ears listened obediently to Lisa’s story, but my eyes wandered, washing across the club to see what target they might set themselves upon. 

But not long after Loud Lisa drifted off in search of another tryst, two of my colleagues showed up. It was fun to have companionship, but my eyes protested because they knew that my leash on them would be tighter. These fun-spirited women know only that I’m married to a great man, and of course they know my profession. 

They don’t know that my marriage is testing the waters of a potential opening, and they’ve certainly never met Lila, not even in their wildest dreams. 

With friends there and the club starting to fill up, my legs, aching to express themselves too, got up from the comfy barstool and started to dance (for why should they not get a chance to speak since clearly eyes were having their heyday). And as the alcohol and music circulated through my veins, hips decided that they also wanted an opinion, and just like that, each sensual part of my body insisted on getting what they each wanted, back arching, hair gliding through the air, hands caressing. It was the start of a  coup d’état, orchestrated by eyes, to arrest control from propriety and grant it to desire.

We all danced together and occasionally with others brave enough to approach. The club was full of thirst: the salsa boys who knew how to lead, the older gentleman who dripped in longing, and also dripped in cash to buy us drinks, the wall man who just stood with his back against it and stared and stared all night,  even the cute girl who started to dance with me,  only to inform me that “My friend in the white shirt thinks you’re beautiful.  Would you like to dance with him?” What a good friend she was. 

But then there he was, the feast my eyes had been truly hunting for, with beautiful eyes and a matching, electric smile. He sat on a chair against the wall. And it was the shape of his form that made my eyes buck, shaking off the last reins of control. These eyes and the sensual songs they sang had his attention hooked. Smiles were returned to these dancing eyes, glance upon glance snuck in my direction, at my eyes and every other shameless, rebellious body part. 

“Oh, get over yourself, J. he was enjoying it” my eyes protest now at my characterization of them. “After all, it got him a kiss on the neck from you, and he didn’t complain about that, did he?” 

I suppose they’re right. He could have ignored the attention if he had found it unpleasant, but he didn’t. Our dance of glances went on throughout the night, as we all enjoyed the merriment of music, of fun, and of desire. 

After one friend had left to sleep, there were fewer eyes to watch what to their eyes would be a betrayal of my marriage, a cause to label me an adulteress, a word dripping in scorn.  So when my friend went to the bathroom, and my eyes found their feast looking longing and receptive and brave enough to wave me over, I went. As I passed wall man his eyes begged: “please, please turn your taunts to me. Don’t you see me, I’ve literally been staring at you all night.” But my eyes stayed focused on their mark. 

To be honest, I was a bit drunk and don’t recall our short conversation, but I do remember that I took his number at his requesting but denied giving him mine despite his protests that I wouldn’t contact him and he’d never see me again, an idea he didn’t like. 

I also told him I was married, but that my marriage was a bit open, so this flirtation was ok, but also that my friend didn’t know and wouldn’t understand. But since my friend was in the bathroom, he asked if he could hug me, much to the chagrin of wall man, I’m sure. I granted the permission he wanted,  and when he stood and put his arms around me, he brushed his soft lips across my forehead. 

“Is that okay?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

Then my cheek, my neck, but not my lips. I kept those tilted away and he respectfully didn’t try. Although my marriage is opening, it’s new. I have not yet kissed someone other than Luke within the confines of our relationship. I can sense that although he’s in no way jealous or possessive and he does also want this, his heart, at the thought of me with another man, jumps just a little with the worry that somehow this could lead us to a future where we aren’t together and where he loses me. And so, it felt right to start small, with these small kisses on more neutral frontiers and see how they land on his consciousness when he hears the story.   

But then, brain revolted too, feeling daring and sinfully playful. “You have his number and he doesn’t know anything about you other than that you’re so fucking hot. You could never see him again, so perhaps after we get home, we’ll message him from Lila’s phone and send him her Instagram. He’ll find her website, and then there will be one person who has seen Lila’s beautiful face and sensual movements in person, and he’ll drool over her pictures, our pictures, and that will be fucking hot” ran brain’s mind in delight. 

“Seriously, brain? That is a terrible plan. There’s no way we’re going to do that.” 

But brain wasn’t listening to me. My response was ignored as brain tried to recall if I’d given him any sort of detail that might jeopardize our anonymity. And when it came up short, brain enlisted the help of lips and kissed and then licked a small section of his salty neck in one short and quick movement because as brain saw it: “if we ever let him learn about Lila, he’ll remember that kiss and her tongue on his skin, and it will drive him fucking mad.” 

“Oh my god, you guys” I reprimanded to my whole rebellious body and their positively reckless intentions. “This man is nice and we’re not going to be such a tease. We are not going to invite him into Lila’s world. There can be no connection between her world and ours, absolutely not.” 

But not a single one listened, except for heart, who reminded the rebellious  lot that my friend had just come out of the bathroom and that it was time, for the sake of my husband’s reputation among my unknowing work companions and this poor victim of my eyes, that it would be best if we returned to the dance floor, and so we did, legs enthusiastically for all they really care about is dancing anyways, eyes more reluctantly, lips stubbornly resisting. 

But eyes kept looking across the dance floor and he kept looking back, and later when my friend was distracted, we returned for more conversation. He told me about himself. He was interesting, and were I single and lived here in this place far away from home, I would have most certainly not walked again back to the dance floor, but those were not the circumstances under which we met, so legs carried us, once again, away. 

Later he came to the dance floor, and ass wanted it’s turn to revolt, and so it did, backing up to him to grind, enlisting the help of hips and back to move in perfect rhythm on his body. But ears heard him say “Oh, God I don’t fucking deserve this”  and then mind remembered that he had mentioned that he played drums for several different churches, so perhaps he was unused to a woman grinding her scantily clad body on him, a woman who in fact no longer believes in a god or the idea of abstinence or the denial of ones own search for pleasure. Whatever the reason, he pulled back, which was best because my friend was still there, albeit distracted. 

Near 2 AM, I told my friend I was ready to go. I went and said goodbye to the guy, and once again denied his request for my contact information mostly because I wanted to check in with Luke about his feelings before doing anything that would create a link between us, and partly because brain was still scheming its wicked plan. But I did leave with a promise that I would 100% contact him. 

“Yea, from Lila’s account” brain gloated in glorious anticipation. 

“You’re cruel” heart argued back to brain while eyes threw one last seductive glance over a shoulder and hips did one last little circle. 

The Coup d’état had happened. My flirtatious desirous body and mind in all her ranging wild beauty had had the fun she had craved, giving in to the insatiable desire to feel the power of her capacity to capture attention. But heart, having the last say, hoped that it wasn’t at the expense of the beautiful souls we had devoured with our powers of seduction. 


“You were right, babe. I’ve thought about it, and contacting that guy from Lila’s account is definitely not a good idea.” I say to my husband on Saturday as I pack up to head back home. 

“I told you. You’ve got to be careful if you want to stay anonymous.” My rational husband reminds me. 

“Are you okay if I message him? I just feel bad that I had so strongly promised him that I would contact him. It doesn’t sit well to not follow through, especially given that I had been the one to initiate contact.” 

“Sure, go ahead,” he tells me. 

“Plus, if I get in touch from my number and as myself, then I can’t change my mind later in a moment of seductive weakness and reach out as Lila” I say. 

“Oh, jeeze, you’re no fun!” Brain gripes in exasperation, utterly disappointed. 

G 8:15 AM: “LOL.. no i definitely remember you.. You were all I had my eyes on that night

G 8:24 AM: “lol you did. I will admit seems we have a bit of a connection. 

G 8:32 AM “haha

“Lol yea very strong” 

“Jennifer, right?? 

“Well, since you’re fessing up” brain quips “why don’t you also tell him that the reason you lied was because you were going to invite him into your world of delightful seduction!” 

“Drop it already. It’s too late. He already has my real number. There’s no going back. He can’t have Lila. Get over it already.”

G 8:42 AM: “Ohhh ok.. Well it’s nice to officially meet you. 

G 8:46 AM: “And yes.. My instagram is @—-. 

G 8:54 AM: “lol 

G 8:55 AM: “Well feel free to send anything you wouldn’t post.” 

“See that!!!” Yells brain in delight, jumping out of the seat where she’s been passively watching the whole, as she characterized it, “boring” exchange. “He fucking wants to see pictures of you! Oh my God! Why didn’t anyone listen to me! He would have fucking loved Lila!

I look at the text for a minute, my lips curling into a smile, just a touch of regret rising up.  

“Yeah, it would have been fun to send him Lila, especially right now,  but it’s too late and would have been too risky anyways” I tell brain,  attempting to appease her angst.

“Next time!” Brain throws. 

“Never!” I spit back.  

I finish my packing and head to my last work meeting before catching my flight home.


Post Script for the curious among us…


G 11:34 AM: Hey

G 11:41 AM: It’s going well.. how often do you go out dancing?

G 11: 44 AM: Oh that’s fun..

No, I don’t often… I wanna see a pic of you! Your IG is a wasteland lol

At that, I pause, a slight naughty playfulness rising up from within.

“Finally!” Screams brain as I hit the send button, excitement edging her voice.

Don’t get your hopes up, it’s just a little tease for fun, and so you can stop griping about how I didn’t listen to you.

G 11:48 AM: Wait, what? Why can’t I have both??

G 12:30 PM: Love the hair…and your eyes.

“Oh my god!” we all laugh together, every fun and playful part of me as we look at this last text, “We couldn’t make this shit up if we tried!”

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