Seduction? I have never seduced a man in my life.
I attack them. I rake my nails down their spines until they bleed, I bite their necks hard enough to bruise, I grab and thrust and hold and choke and arch and writhe and cry out, underneath them and above them and all around them, until they can't take any more, and they fly off the edge of everything and into the swirling nothingness after me; but seduce them? I wouldn't know how.
Maybe it's because I'm not beautiful, have never been beautiful, will never be beautiful. Maybe it's because I never learned how to cajole with my eyes, or smile with my voice, or deceive with my body. I'm too honest. Too hungry. Too passionate. I take lovers as a wild animal does--and a wild animal of the wrong gender, at that.
I am no bitch to hunker down, cowering, as the dogs come to sniff between my legs, and force me to the ground, and mount me from behind, over and over again, until my raw insides can take no more, and my slick scarlet blood stains the earth.
It's not the ferocity or the bleeding I object to. It's the one-sided-ness. If I can bleed, so can he (whomever he might be); and I am happy to show him how.
And although I've heard it said that some men prefer to be in control from start to finish--although I've heard it said that they like the chase, and the capture, and the taking of the spoils--I have never met the man who still felt that way, by the time I'd thrown him into my bed.
I am not beautiful. Have never been beautiful. Will never be, beautiful. But if you were flat on your back, staring into my eyes as I straddled you and rode you like the beast you are, you would never know it.
Seduction... it seems to be a word constructed out of lies, somehow; and I am not subtle enough to lie with my lips, nevermind the rest of my body.
If I want you, I won't bother with seduction--I'll just pounce.