Helpless For Pussy.

She makes me stupid but to my advantage she couldn't know it. She wouldn't, especially since she has never expressed any interest in my brain or any manner of discourse that would suggest she was ascertaining my intelligence or displaying hers. I suspect there isn't much to display. 

"What do you want to drink?" She asks and I stare at her with my mouth open like a moron. 

"T..tea, I guess," I respond unthinkingly while I stare at the taut strap that is holding her entire dress together in one knot. 

"We're in a bar!" She says laughing, "They don't serve tea here." 

I laugh too, but only to be agreeable. I really don't care about drinks and honestly what I really want is actually a cup of coffee, but she wants to split a bottle of wine so I nod my head, to be agreeable. I want to be agreeable because it is quite clear to me that under normal circumstances I have no shot with a woman like this. I've never played leagues before but it's obvious she is way out of mine. Next to her I'm like the ugly friend that makes the hot one stand out even more. 

And good god does she deserve to stand out. I'm at complete peace with how I look but I know it's not astounding and I am not leading with my hotness, but every once in while I'll come across a person that reminds me that there is a difference between being "decent looking but having a great personality" and being so smoking hot the mere sight of you is astounding, and then suddenly on am not "decent looking" and I can't think of a single thing that is attractive about me. She is astounding. I wear cute dresses to make myself look better, she could wear garbage and make it look better. For the first few days that we communicated I was absolutely convinced that she was catfishing me. I thought she was pretending not to understand that word, but as I got to know her better, I realized she really didn't know that word. She knew and knows the one thing she really needs to know to arm herself before the world: She knows how unbelievably hot she is.  

It's a level of hotness that made every single function of my behaviour in her presence evidence as to how shallow I really am. I say I want love and that is what I am looking for; I say I want a real and honest and interesting person who fulfills me in unforseen ways and matches a level of intensity I feel necessary. I claim to be looking for rich relationships, dynamics and connections but it's clear I'll drop all of that if a really hot chick offers to sit on my face for an afternoon. 

"Shall we go back to my place?" She asks, neither drunk nor doing an imitation of it. 

We go. 

We go. She expects me to pull her chair out for her, hold the car door open and carry her bag. I'm happy to do it because well, that's what I'm here for and it's easy because she had this power over me. She's so beautiful that I just *need* her to like me. This behavior is not even out of character for me, I'm sort of a self-spread doormat for any person who possesses any kind of power over me but for all of them I have good reason. For her, I have nothing. I behave to her specifications simply because I want her to see me naked; I want to feel her nails inside me. So I carry things and I say words. I listen to her and answer her questions. 

The questions. 

I am actually quite adept at handling chatty people but I am also quite easily annoyed by repetition and all her questions are the same goddamn question. All she has ever asked me, besides a few customary questions to ascertain there was a real person behind the screen, is what dirty stuff I like/have done/would do. The truth is if a man behaved like that with me on a dating app I would be extremely put off, even a man as hot as she is a woman, I suppose we do have double standards. 

I let her ask her questions but much more astoundingly I answered. Over and over I repeated fantasies as she probed for more filth and offered her own. It was the same thing, again and again, but it didn't matter because I was just looking at her pictures and imagining her doing those things to me. I don't know what her deal is though, she made many claims to being vicious and rough and intense, and those are all the claims she made about herself. But then again, she is so hot I suddenly didn't care about getting to know someone better before I let them wash my hair with their piss. What's there to know except she would wash my hair with her piss?

She talks as she walks up the stairs but all I can think about as I walk behind her is how those thighs would feel around my throat. I've dreamed of those thighs and I wonder what she would think of me if she knew just how much I'd been thinking of her. Everything about her manner is so crude and inept, but I am so mesmerized but the collar bone and the sparkling nails that I don't care that I wouldn't allow many other people to just fling me to the floor. 

But I like being on her floor. 

I wonder if another woman, less breathtaking, would seem as brazen as she does as she slips put of her heels and presses her heel to my mouth. For a moment, it's hesitant, and then almost like a storm I can feel that viciousness she mentioned. I wonder how much of it comes from the confidence that she can get away with anything if she likes; she can make willful, strong people behave like fuckwits in her presence. 

"It was quite embarrassing to be out with you," she says in a tone I haven't heard her take before, "Who dresses like that and sits like that and...your hair, it's like you cut them yourself." 

I'm rather surprised by this direction even though I would have suggested it myself if I had trusted that she would understand it. It's an odd moment when you realize you underestimated someone simply because they don't show or represent themselves quite the way you do. She was so beautiful all I thought about was how her body would feel, and even though she screamed her filthy desires at me I failed at being myself entirely. I failed to wonder where they came from and focused just on how a person that hot would taste. 

"You thought I was some dumb little cunt, didn't you?" She asks. 

I would say yes but it's hard to talk when you're trying to swallow a foot so I just nod. Under normal circumstances being surprised would have thrown me but with her I just, I cannot believe someone so beautiful would put their foot in my mouth. So I imagine I do embarrass her by standing next to her. Anyone would. 

Yet when she pulls me onto my feet and drags me to the mirror on the other end of the room I want to stand next to her. Not to make her look prettier but to see how ugly I must look before her. 

"I'm so tired of high and mighty bitches like you," she says pulling my head more than my hair, "But today I get to show you everything that's wrong with you..." 

It is easy to get out of my clothes, I designed them as such. She gets out of hers slowly and I am grateful because all of it is a lot to take in at once. The moment I see her entirely naked in front of me I want to cover myself up with a towel or a blanket, but she places my arms against the mirror and stands beside me with a big green marker in her hand. 

"So fucking ugly," she says drawing a circle around my nose and then one around the tiny zit on my chin. 

I'm scared to move an inch lest I show her another part of my ugliness. 

"So scarred and marked and ruined..." She says circling down my body, "Loose and hairy and repulsive." 

I cannot justify how incredibly aroused I am but if she would I'd let her tell me what's wrong with me forever. Every brush of her fingers on my skin feels like a reward. 

"Look at yourself!" She demands, "Do you see how much is fucking wrong with you?" 

I do and I think I enjoy having so much be wrong with me. It makes me squirm to watch her representation of my estimation. I feel like I must be garbage to her. I feel I truly enjoy being garbage. 

"So will you be grateful?" She asks sweetly, "Will you be grateful when I let you worship my perfect body?" 

I nod my head vigorously. I'm grateful it even occurs to her to let my mouth near her. She walks towards her bedroom and I crawl behind her. 

She turns around and stops for a moment to look at me. 

"You are pathetic." She says looking me right in the eyes. 

She's right. 

Because even as she berates me, all I can think about is crawling between those thighs. 

Pathetic.