Thursday, May 7, 2009

Do you remember...

"I'm obsessed with you."

The words make me stop, make me look again.

"I don't use that word lightly. But I am. I dream about you, fantasize about you, and get jealous when I hear about your male exploits."

He continues.

"I can't imagine any sort of future with you. None. We'd self-destruct, and I know it. But I can't help but want to try."

I don't attempt to stop this flow of words. I don't tell him the truth: that he only wants me because it will make him feel better about himself. That me wanting him in return will validate him as desirable and worthwhile.

He knows we are wrong for each other, knows that I would eat him alive, but he still wishes and wants... and he doesn't know why.

I did not do this on purpose.

I swear I did not.

It just happens. I stop paying attention to what I am doing, start relaxing, and then my platonic male friends elevate me to pedestals without my knowledge or consent. He's not the first. He's no where near the first.

He tries to buy me presents, offers me money if needed. I just have to tell him what I want.

I could financially ruin him, but my ethics get in the way.

I could tell him the reasons why he wants me the way he does. I wish I could point him to chapters in books, to short paragraphs about seduction and desire, about the games that I have naturally been playing for so long that people come to me for advice and instruction.

I could.

But I won't.

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