4. when we can- tempt

With mention to O and Nina, for inspiring me to share my own "dirty" fantasies.

Dear T,

I spin the dirtiest fantasies I can these days.

I dream of being a temptress to ugly leery men, old, the workmen maybe who come to my house. I have them stare at me with contempt and lust, disgust and awe. I lure them to bedrooms and demand to be fucked. I watch their faces gauging what they may or may not catch from me, wondering how their imagined demons could come presented to them in such pretty packages, wondering how they couldn’t tell right off from my face, such an innocent face, like my wanting sex should come with a mark for their own protection.

(My mother whispers in my ear that which I have heard her say many times, sitting righteously on her claimed living-room couch, watching TV and tsk, tsk, tsking. The ones we should be most afraid of are those who have lost even their sense of shame. Those are the ones who are truly lost. Mother dear, I am afraid to tell you because I don’t want you to fear me, hate me, but I never had it to begin with. I was ashamed when I lied, when I wasted, when I did not appreciate, when I was idle, when I attacked needlessly, when I hurt spitefully, but this, I could not feel for at all. Should I have forced it? Would you have preferred my struggle? Would I have had the mark then to set me apart?)

This fantasy of mine is a place I can never fully let myself go; when faced with a hint of that look in a man’s eyes in real life, a part of me is left cold.