Thursday, September 01, 2005

The Second of Three Women

You can't trust this woman, but you don't care. Stiletto limbs press like pins into soft perfect ass of baby fat. This sort of woman would make a man beg if he thought it would make a difference. Her sex appeal was so strong that the average penis length increased by a couple inches in any room she entered. Her amphetamine wink once aimed at a man would make him ache sleepless for weeks. Once she got into your head, once she got you playing a tortuous game of 'what if' you were lost, useless, ruined.

She never wanted me, but still I had something she wanted. Or thought she wanted. She taught me my own limits of deception. Once she got within arms reach, she rendered my poker face pointless. I understood that to court this pandora would require a evolutionary climb, and I discovered such a scientific feat could occasionally be made though sheer will. With my back turned toward her, I'm thankful for the encounter. Facing her though, I feel resentment. Her perfect neck can never be fully possessed by it's beholder. I want to consume that neck. I want to use my teeth, like I would with a perfect apple.

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