Anonymous

It doesn’t take me much. A hair flick, the way he raises his eyebrow, quizzically or mischievously and suddenly I’m there. I’m ready to go. He knows this about me, about his ability to turn me on. He wears white ribbed tank tops with a small notch cut just right in the center and will reveal the secret to me when I least expect it. That tank top with the little notch cut out, making it incredibly easy for me to rip off his body, becomes all I can see. He knows the power he wields over me at any given moment.

That’s why I’ve agreed to this game of his. He wants to see how far he can push me until I yield and give in. We’re at a party, and he’s watching me from a distance, wondering just when I’ll succumb to my need to ravage him. I’m sure it’s driving him mad, that I’m not driven mad at that very moment. He’s probably thumbing the little remote control in his pocket madly trying to adjust the speed on the mechanism that’s between my legs. It would probably be thrumming with maddening pressure, forcing me to demure from the conversation I’m currently having with a striking blond girl, and find him across the room. I know he wants me to beg him to take me back to our hotel room and finish what the night has started. I feel his eyes on me as I continue to flirt with the blond in front of me allowing her to put her hand on my knee, returning the gesture. He thinks he has me. We wants to have me. I can feel that need from him, that confusion. I should be his by now. That’s why we’re doing this, why he wants to do this, why he’s doing this to me. But what he doesn’t know is that earlier I took the batteries out. The power is mine now. So is he.