The Quiet Ones

Have you ever had the feeling of being overlooked? Summed up quickly by an outsider who assumes they can can fit you into a box? We are trained from a young age to perceive what we see as absolute truth. So let’s test this. What do you think of when you encounter a woman of few words? One who is shy, reserved?

Probably nothing. Do you walk right past? Glance over her with blind eyes as you search for the peacocks in the room? Some say you have to watch out for the quiet ones.  

Well then, let’s watch.  

Polite women are timid, boring, vanilla. You scan the room looking for radiance to draw you in, deeper. The most ostentatious must be the most exciting. Maybe you fantasize of clothes being ripped off, loud screams and guttural moans. Pleasure that borders on pain, a promise of something exquisite, unique. And maybe you’ll be disappointed.

When you are quiet, they assume you are dull. When you’re polite, it’s viewed as purity, yet that purity is inexplicably tinged with the reverie of corruption. You want to dominate, shock, destroy.  But that’s only because you cannot see beneath this veil. She’s so kind, so sweet, such a virgin. She’s…

Oh no, honey.  You don’t know what I can do, what I can give. What I can take.  

While these eyes may look big and innocent, if you could look through them, you would see. You would feel it.

The quiet ones aren’t so quiet in the dark.

My body arouses within me a feverish need. I am fully aware of the pleasure I can create in myself and others. And I know precisely the ways I will feel when that seduction is released tonight. I can feel it so strongly that I’ve had to stop myself today from sliding my hands from my breasts, down my stomach, to the smooth wetness beneath my skirt. I’ve been anticipating, squeezing my knees together, back and forth, waiting. My heart beats a bit faster as I watch the hours pass. Tonight, we’re having a party.  

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