Prey

Poised to go for the kill.

That's how my friend, Hubert, found me the other day.   He asked how it was, chatting with Reggie.  

"Fine," I said. 

 "You look ferocious."

"Oh no, I'm not."

I fiddled with the strap of my shoe, only to find out that, for some strange reason, the clasp is already gone.   

" When you stalk prey, you do not try to intimidate him so that he doesn't have to move somewhere else or to try going into a defensive stance at all.  He'll know you're there and think that you're up to something, but still he won't do anything.  Now you have to dazzle him in some ways that he'll never know what hit him once you're upon him or he'll see you come only in the last minute and his heart will be beating so loudly he'll only be relying upon instincts to make his next move.  But the desire will also be there when, with open arms, he'll grab me as I come."

"You sound like a stalker."

"No, I'm not.  Merely intent on what I want.  He's definitely going to get it.  And it's not because I'm near ovulation or that his body packs such sexiness that I can smell it from here."

"Oh come on, you're one person I know who could get so addictively high with it."

I pulled hard at the strap.  It got free and I flung it at the corner of the room.  It missed the trash can. 

"It's the mind sex, Hubert.  Body sex is nothing without mind sex.  I'm definitely going to fuck his mind to a thousand, screaming nirvanas."

"I'm sure.  Because you can't get the body sex now.  He doesn't even 'know' you yet."

"Oh.  Yeah."