One look, and you think "Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Darkly quiet, serene countenance, well-read, polite, attractive, possesses light half-smile." Another look, and you sense a prickle of want rising in you. Why? Who is this woman? You want a third look. Perhaps there is an exchange of words, nothing more than salutation or banter. Then it hits. You sense it. You feel it hard - wanting of dark, intense, hard, soft, light, deep, curious, curious, curious all at once and Me in the middle of it, guiding, commanding, ruling, then surrendering, to My own desire and to yours - if you have the sense to overpower and thrill Me. When I'm driving into you, I'm driving hard and when I'm not I'm begging for it. A paradox? Don't make Me beg. I want more than anyone has ever dared. I dare you. Dare Me.
[if254 1]
My Ideal Person:
My Ideal Person: Sharp. Unafraid. Of appetite voracious. Decent in the world. Indecent in the lioness's den. Clean. Safe. Open and explorative. Trusted and can be trusted. Mad. Ready. Friendly. No jerk, no coward, no whore. A gentleman. Knows how to handle. Turns on a dime. Able to bend steel in his bare hands and use it oh so properly. Generous. Keen to receive, keener to give. Understands rules of the road. Kneels. Makes kneel. Wants more and isn't hesitant to say so. Not a charmer, and not, as Jackson Pollock famously said, "a phony".
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