I can say one thing at this point that is very positive about having never been married, and for that matter, staying largely single my whole life. I am free to fall in love with whomever I want whenever I want, and I don't have to feel guilty about it. I haven't in my life ever made promises to any lover that I can't still keep. On top of that, at this point, I have been forgotten by all of my former lovers.
So...I don't feel guilty about falling in love, ever. I do it every day. The women I fall in love with almost never know about my adoration.
It sounds creepy, but really, it isn't. I fall in love for a moment, and the moment is gone when my eye is caught again. Since no woman lays claim on me, I do not have to be shamed.
Last night I fell in love with Shannon. Shannon is a waitress at the bar at which I was sitting. The bartender was beautiful as well, but she was very tall. I prefer a woman to be not so...vertical. But, I digress.
Shannon has burnished, thick chestnut hair, falling in a tumult about her shoulders. Her eyes are a mossy green, and quite soft. her lips are soft, too. I could tell from watching her talk. I would watch her talk and wtch her eyes when she was talking. She is trusting. She would believe what I would say to her, and I would never lie to her.
This is, of course, only a temporary love. Shannon is beautiful, she is pretty, but I would only adore her. She is too innocent. I am sure that she is not virginal, but this is how I see her. I have little to no interest in the virginal; a woman who is a virgin is only one who has yet to learn the secrets of her womanhood. I have no patience for this.
So, Shannon, I bid my love for you adieu. It was not to be, Cheri, mi amour. You are not the type of woman who makes my blood race, you merely make my heart skip for a moment. It isn't lust, it is a mere appreciation of beauty.
No...the lust inspiring ones for me are the other women. Not the ones who are unaware of their beauty, nor the ones in a glass bell. Innocence does not tempt me. Innocence can't understand me. Innocence can't express beauty the way that the damned can. Lust isn't satisfied by a princess, it is satisfied by a harlot.
The woman who knows what she wants. The one who uses sex as a weapon. Eye shadow is fierce. Pointed toes and heels are martial. Arched brows are...fiendish.
Brazen tattoos are a symbol of the ownership of one's self. I do not speak of tiny little roses on the heel that speak of a drunken night coming in from the suburbs to go to the big dark city and maybe have a wine cooler with the big boys. I speak of big, bold tattoos. These take ownership of the self, and say that certain collars will never be tolerated. Big tattoos on arms, shoulders, and calves indicate the total disregard for the need to ever be owned by a man and put on display as a prize; they indicate the desire to be a prize to one's self.
I don't particularly care for big breasts. I don't mind them, and if a woman wants a boob job to help them feel more confident, I am all for it. There are too many, however, who get enlargement for a man. Believe me, you can tell the difference...a woman who takes on her own empowerment is awesome, whereas one who submits to mutilation for someone else's vanity is pathetic. Guess which one I choose?
Don't wear white. Please don't. White is cold, icy, frigid. White is virginal and can only be spoiled or die unfulfilled. Dark, rich colors are powerful and sensual. They are life, they are fire.
So...I don't feel guilty about falling in love, ever. I do it every day. The women I fall in love with almost never know about my adoration.
It sounds creepy, but really, it isn't. I fall in love for a moment, and the moment is gone when my eye is caught again. Since no woman lays claim on me, I do not have to be shamed.
Last night I fell in love with Shannon. Shannon is a waitress at the bar at which I was sitting. The bartender was beautiful as well, but she was very tall. I prefer a woman to be not so...vertical. But, I digress.
Shannon has burnished, thick chestnut hair, falling in a tumult about her shoulders. Her eyes are a mossy green, and quite soft. her lips are soft, too. I could tell from watching her talk. I would watch her talk and wtch her eyes when she was talking. She is trusting. She would believe what I would say to her, and I would never lie to her.
This is, of course, only a temporary love. Shannon is beautiful, she is pretty, but I would only adore her. She is too innocent. I am sure that she is not virginal, but this is how I see her. I have little to no interest in the virginal; a woman who is a virgin is only one who has yet to learn the secrets of her womanhood. I have no patience for this.
So, Shannon, I bid my love for you adieu. It was not to be, Cheri, mi amour. You are not the type of woman who makes my blood race, you merely make my heart skip for a moment. It isn't lust, it is a mere appreciation of beauty.
No...the lust inspiring ones for me are the other women. Not the ones who are unaware of their beauty, nor the ones in a glass bell. Innocence does not tempt me. Innocence can't understand me. Innocence can't express beauty the way that the damned can. Lust isn't satisfied by a princess, it is satisfied by a harlot.
The woman who knows what she wants. The one who uses sex as a weapon. Eye shadow is fierce. Pointed toes and heels are martial. Arched brows are...fiendish.
Brazen tattoos are a symbol of the ownership of one's self. I do not speak of tiny little roses on the heel that speak of a drunken night coming in from the suburbs to go to the big dark city and maybe have a wine cooler with the big boys. I speak of big, bold tattoos. These take ownership of the self, and say that certain collars will never be tolerated. Big tattoos on arms, shoulders, and calves indicate the total disregard for the need to ever be owned by a man and put on display as a prize; they indicate the desire to be a prize to one's self.
I don't particularly care for big breasts. I don't mind them, and if a woman wants a boob job to help them feel more confident, I am all for it. There are too many, however, who get enlargement for a man. Believe me, you can tell the difference...a woman who takes on her own empowerment is awesome, whereas one who submits to mutilation for someone else's vanity is pathetic. Guess which one I choose?
Don't wear white. Please don't. White is cold, icy, frigid. White is virginal and can only be spoiled or die unfulfilled. Dark, rich colors are powerful and sensual. They are life, they are fire.