• Fri, Feb 25 2011

Lost In Translation: Eye F*cking Isn’t Cheating


Lost in Translation is our weekly column from a college guy’s perspective.
Boy, oh boy, do I ever enjoy myself a good ol’ fashioned across-the-bar tug job. Eye fucking may very well be enough to keep me well behaved and less likely to actually wander or stray outside the nice fenced-in front yard of monogamy.

Look. But don’t touch. The rules are simple enough. And for a man with a wandering eye, it’s nice to have a loose(r) leash when tossing a few back at the bar.

Exchange with me a nice sensual stare, lids slightly draped over a couple of whiskey-hot peepers, in that damn sultry way that all you females know how to do, and that, dear lady, is worthy of an inaudible groan, a visual erection of sorts. You have my mental pants down and those mind drawers of mine are yanking themselves off as quickly as possible. Let’s make this a quickie, though. If this here girl on my right sees us exchanging heated stares, it’s back into the doghouse for me.

See, to me, eye fucking isn’t cheating.  Cheating requires physical contact. Emotional girlfriends will forever be there. Best friends. Old friends. Friends to whom I turn to when she becomes unbearable and we’re teetering on the cusp of yet another fight, yet another breakup. And eye fucking is a way of consummating that relationship, tackling that tension as it is only natural to think of someone you have that strong of a connection with in an intimate way. And there is no denying any one of those thoughts. You should be grateful that my gaze returns to you at the end of the night. And it’s with you I’m going home.

I’m not going to stick my chest out and say that it doesn’t bother me when she offers a few strokes to someone else’s ego. I’ve seen it happen. And it’s bruising. Leaves a nice scar that only heals when she’s back to swallowing me with her eyes. But that’s exactly what it does.  It keeps me in check. Makes me want to go out of my way to make sure she is turned on BY ME, still interested enough to toss me a in-the-pocket-handjob on the dancefloor. Instead of storming off after noticing my eyes turned elsewhere, leaving me even more vulnerable to temptations around the bar, tug on my shirt elbow, turn me towards you, make me want to eye fuck you.

(Photo: Getty)

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