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Summaries are overrated and reserved for Sparknotes. View table of contents...



Submitted:Jun 21, 2010    Reads: 190    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

"Fuck me."

His brown eyes bore into me peeling my retina into its utter nakedness. The brown in my eyes is usually obsequiously opaque building a wall to prevent any invasion of the male superiority complex that plagues our society through the display of masochism to tickle my oh so peppy va-jay-jay. Because once he gets into a girl's eyes which if looked at with the correct touch can free the genie that lays prisoner in her heart granting her pants less than three wishes to slowly slip off and laugh. Laugh with her vagina. Giggle to the point where her girlish vulnerability opens her mouth in loose abandon unwillingly welcoming amphibian like creatures hungrily swimming to their desired nest.

His head is propped up on my belly button and his eyes are still on me excavating what twenty one years of war took to build and make certain. Should I attempt to read his eyes? No! Don't fall into that trap. They will still look even after they have been read. A book closes yet the words that tattoo it are still in existence. He is still looking at me.
"No, I can't", he said in an eerie objective manner not characteristic to his exuberant lively nature. I wanted to fathom a tinge of sadness in his tone but I knew this desire of mine only stemmed from my defeat of being turned into a girl from a woman I thought I was.
But why this refusal? Isn't this what he has wanted all along? From the instance he set his eyes on me in lab, I smelt his hunger and took that as a cue to control him. What is a hunter without a prey anyway? An aimless shooter.
So I decided to give him an aim. Think of it as a form of charity. I decided to play his game knowing that victory would only favor me the lethally harmless angel in disguise. It's because Victory is a man hating lesbian. Or so I thought.
He started to nuzzle up to my breasts and I petted his hair the way I remembered petting goats at the petting zoo during my younger years.
"Why can't you", I declared lacking the normal inquisitive tone a more naïve and less needy girl would've articulated.
"I can't let my desires change who you are", he said in a stern explanatory manner with soldier masculinity. I hate it when he uses the soldier masculinity tone. His sexiness pervades every crevice of my body involuntarily instructing the anarchy in between each crevice to obey.
This time I choose not to act submissive. I am a failed actress around this one. Totally sucks. I know.
"How will I change. It's physically impossible. The law of conservation of matter does not agree baby", I coyly responded which only caused him to look even more intensely at me and smile his trademark smile further weakening my guard. Damn that smile.
This is not going as I had planned. This vulnerability is a detriment to my plan. Guys have needs. Girls have wants. Guys are bananas. Just peel and eat. Monkeys love them. Girls are like cherry bombs. Explosive but they taste pretty damn good when they detonate.
How would I know? How would I know of such cuisine?
It's because I had this particular desert the night before. From this woman I've picked up off the street.


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