Yes, I love the dark one.
And I hate the dark one.
I am drawn to the casual intensity of his posture, helpless moth to consuming flame. His cocksure smile, tongue like a snake, all soft syllables and hidden fangs, dripping with an instinctual understanding of his prey. His smirking, liquid eyes, eyes that have seen innumerable women pass under and through them and collected from them a treasury of feminine secrets – I hate those eyes.
Those eyes melt me with their heat.
I cannot help the desire that floods my veins from the impact of his presence. No, there is no stopping pure biology, nor pure lust. But neither will I simply be another pawn, consumed without thought to sate his unending appetite, his arrogant cockiness.
My desperation for his touch fuels my distance and avoidance. His game, his rules, and I refuse to enter the board. I mistrust his magnetism, mistrust that I can ever remain whole from his ministrations.
I do not want to remain whole.
I want the dark one.
I hate the dark one.
I took this photo using my Christmas present to myself: a Nikon D60 DSLR. I bought a lens to go with it, but apparently they “accidentally oversold on this item” and it’s on back order. I have no idea when I’ll get it, so I’ve been using an older Nikkor lens I have just so I can play around and take some photos.
Now I just need some models…preferably nude models. Hehe.
I can feel bloodlust rising in my gut and groin. It comes every once and a while, always unexpected, always sudden as a slap across the face. It’s hard to explain the transformation, precisely. It is animalistic, carnal, raging heat in its purest form. It curves my hands into claws, itching to grasp onto a body and claim it. It clenches my jaw with the inexplicable desire to bite down on soft flesh, bite down to the bone and not let go. It makes me want to tear, rip apart, reduce, immerse, consume with every pore. I want to swallow someone whole and for their last human breath to be a gasp of raw pleasure.
It makes me wild.
When it comes, it dominates my mind, and I can think of little else. Images of teeth tearing through flesh wash across my mind and my heartbeat quickens. The feral grin of a wolf leaves me heady with desire. It knows what it is. It takes what it needs, and that is all. I imagine its hot musky breath, a flash of ivory fangs before it strikes my throat. Pure, precise, and beautiful.
It makes me feel radiantly alive.
I want to leave nothing behind but “tracks in clay, a spray of feathers, mouse blood and bone.” To be taken as I am, my body consumed completely, teeth embedded in yielding flesh.
What else is there?
Holy crap this is the most amazing video ever:
Vodpod videos no longer available.
In other news, 2009 is starting off rather well – there is a GUY! A guy who can hold intellectually stimulating conversation and thinks it’s cute that I used to catch bugs as a kid. SCORE. Only problem? He’s in NYC, and, well, I’m not. Not for long, that is. So, time will tell, but we are keeping in touch for now.
Interesting to think that I have a history of dating not only older guys, but also ones outside of my alma mater. A fact my friends often poke fun at me for. They were all so impressed that I dated someone like SR, only a year or so my senior, at all. And New Guy is at least 4 years older than me, I think.
And, of course, I dig the geeks (ok, besides Tim, but him I’d rather forget about anyway).
Probability of sex in the near future? Sigh, still negligible…