Know thy enemy.

He challenges me. In this world where it is I that am forever pushing forward, I am unused to another soul who stretches my imagination, who pushes me, who reproves me. I am bewitched by his writing. I dance in his vocabulary. My dark side is exposed, although I will never betray my secret.

I imagine kissing him. I know he will be weak, aesthetics will punish him; I will win. My eyes will captivate him. My curves will torment him. My aroma will mesmerise him. I will play innocent. I will make him work, I will make him hurt.

Our lips will brush in electric excitement. I will draw it out. He will beg. Beg with his hands, twisting around my waist, desperately praying for deeper comfort; but I will refuse him. Beg with his words, spinning sweet seduction; I will feign nonchalance. Beg with his breath, heavy and dewed; I will act without care. Beg with his scent, aching for redemption; I will not heed his call.

I will walk away, in frozen indifference. He will dream of me. I have him in my power. And there I shall keep him, until I see fit to make use of him, as my will decrees. I play on his imagination. I tease his wildest eroticisms. I let him believe that his desires might come to pass, and then I take them away. It pleases me to watch him squirm. I am not so naive. His physicality will render him as my puppet.

He is now at my beck and call, one glance and he will be mine.  Mine to do with as I wish. His yearning fuels my strength, his craving feeds my might, and his need is the source of my power.

Perhaps you will think I am wicked, you will perceive my heart to be cruel and my soul to be spiteful. But I am merely a product of my environment. For, like him, cursed with desire, I am also stained with the will of society, the affliction of the female.

One salacious touch, one prayer fulfilled, and I am tainted, I am stained with the mark of promiscuity. His interest dissolved, his love faded, I shall be left alone in ridicule. I will be scarred with the mark of an unchaste woman. Alone with my memories of desire, of hope, of wanting, I will liquefy into fruitless longing. My aching admiration shall be unrequited. The fish will escape the net. He has a thousand other women to tempt his wants, and he will not waste a second in remembrance of me.

Therefore as I am tortured, so I must torture him.

For without his desire, I am nothing. My strength is my weakness.

In this world, it is survival of the fittest.

Know thy enemy.

The End

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