Sensory Overload
- Sight -
The visual system in humans allows individuals to assimilate information from the environment. The major problem in visual perception is that what people see is not simply a translation of retinal stimuli (i.e., the image on the retina). Thus people interested in perception have long struggled to explain what visual processing does to create what we actually see.
He had always had a way of invading my field of vision, it was like he did it on purpose, and my traitorous eyes would drink in the sight of him, memorizing every curve, every wrinkle, every muscle until I knew him by heart. I hated having no control over it; I think that he knew as well which made it ten times worse. He knew that I couldn't take my eyes off him, and he used it to his full advantage, parading in front of me almost daring me to look. That was what he was doing now, taking full advantage of the fact that I was sitting on his basement steps, watching the muscles in his arms ripple as he sanded the boat.
I rubbed my temples as realization slowly crept up on me. This was all horribly familiar; I was here a lot, in the same position, sitting on the sixth step down, my feet on the seventh, elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands. He knew I was there, he always knew. He didn't even have to look up, and no matter how hard I tried to be silent and stealthy, he always knew when I was there. Sometimes he didn't acknowledge my presence; he just continued to work, almost as if he was pretending that I wasn't there. Other times, he would silently smile, hand me a mug of bourbon and sit down on the step next to me, I would study him sideways on as he would smile knowingly, take my hand and lead me upstairs where I would be treated to more visionary delights. The sight of his bare chest, the sight of his hands roaming over my body and slipping between my thighs, the look in his eyes as he moved inside me, the look in his eyes as he took us both over the edge, those things would stay in my memory for the rest of my life, occasionally dancing in front of my eyes when I least expected them to, or least wanted them to.
The sight of him conjured so many conflicting emotions in me. Granted, most of them made me want to kill him, but on occasions like this, when we were both peaceful, when there was no raised voices, no icy atmospheres, when I could just sit and rememorize every detail of him, occasions like this made everything else fade into the background. The raised voices no longer mattered; all that mattered was him, working on his boat, with his hands moving expertly over it, and me, drawing in every detail.
His eyes had always fascinated me. He would stare at me silently, the intensity of his gaze almost making me look away, occasionally he would break the silence with a few choice words, or whisper my name, but we have never had much need for words. I would instinctively know what he was thinking, just like he would know what I was thinking, more often than not we were thinking the same thing. His eyes would always betray him, they showed far more emotion than his face or his voice, it was always his eyes, which is why I quite often found myself drowning in them. Drowning in the sight of him, I didn't want to be saved though, I would save myself, if I ever had the inclination to, right now I was quite happy, sitting on his steps, taking in the sight of him.