Between her thighs

She told me she loved me and at that moment I was trapped because I was only interested in what was between her thighs. I felt it was a premeditated move consciously executed to land her man. She is vindictive and this is a ploy to possess all of me like a prisoner, a slave. That is what love is all about, control over the other person. Love is strategic ploy to weaken and exploit. Love is a flanking maneuver that surprises and hurts the opposition. Love is tact to make somebody vulnerable, a blow that makes a soldier reeling and a poison that kills without medical assistance. Love is war, deadly and compromising. I resent the notion that we were made of gold and sunshine. That is not what a human being is at all because like Nietzsche once stated, even good actions are sublimated evil ones. She showed her hand too soon. It was rash, impulsive, expedient and unsedective. Still, I had to be careful because I knew where that blurt came from. It was truthful expression on her side, her shadow and it came from a fabricated reality. All of her life she has been chasing the idea of love. She loved the idea of somebody completing her. She loved the idea of somebody instinctively knowing her thoughts and how she felt. The culture of romanticism had consumed all of her being. She was impractical living in a world where she chased novelty after novelty. She had a low self-esteem and confidence. Maybe, it was because she had been hurt before. Maybe, it hurt her to the core that it dismantled her self-worth and identity. Maybe this is delicate and sensitive. It could be me, something about my childhood and how I was raised. It could be that I had a narcissistic mother who never gave me much attention and that I am scared of being abandoned and so I do it to others before they do it to me. Maybe I am a written-off vehicle, completely wrecked and damaged. Still, I had to answer or run the risk of dead air taking over. I responded “I love you squared.” It sounded vague and contained possibilities. It sounded like an illusion. It hinted at loving you more but meant nothing like that. It was an exceptional counter-attacking move, one with precision and amazing creativity. The answer had to be great too, if I had any chance of being between her thighs. See, it was a mission of mine, a dream – her thighs were like a gateway to heaven, to paradise. I felt like a jackhammer anticipating to be used. A bomb on countdown awaiting to explode, figuratively and literally in her. Her body excited my middleman and love had nothing to do with it. What I felt was merely physical. A longing to express my desires on her. She represented an object to gratify my sexual urges. Besides being an object, she meant nothing to me. I resent the fact that she would tell me that she loves me when I was trying to climb, to be the best. I am young, black, gifted and amazing and she is trying to cling on to me, to lay claim and preserve like vegetables in the refrigerator. I am not a possession, I am not a vegetable in someone’s refrigerator – I belong to the world and any woman who inquires. Am I a bad person? Sure, but she’s the hypocrite and the liar, camouflaging herself to the exterior of love when she doesn’t know my intrinsic value. How can you claim to love someone you barely know? This is just the duality of life, the realization that we mean different things to different people. The realization that we are a coin toss and fittingly, theres a third side to a coin, the side that gives the coin its duality. She is wrong for loving me so abruptly. After all, would she love me if the word “love” didn’t exist? Highly unlikely, she would have requested a signature to my death warrant. So yes, sure I am an exceptional human being. At least she knows what I want. There’s a big bullseye sign between her legs and I want to be the nail that gets hammered in repeatedly. I wish to penetrate through the curtains of life. I am interested in the energy force that propelled humanity forward in our long ancestry line. Her personality is of little relevance to me; I am only interested in what is between her thighs. Personality depends upon the environment and culture, it is not reliable to be considered as critera. I wish she could detach from her body, it would be ideal. But since that’s an impossibility, I have to be patient with her. By professing her love to me, in my hands I have her vanity and ego; I can make her do anything that I want. She is eager to impress. While I don’t consider her a serious project, I do see her as an adequate mistress, somebody there when called upon to gratify my urges. Alternatively, we could fuck just one more time then she’ll be somebody that I used to know. But why limit yourself?

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