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
"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
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.