Thursday, March 27, 2014

They Call Me The Exotic (Erotic) Fetishist...

Today I had an eye opening conversation with one of my longtime friends. She told me that she wanted to reveal to me her deep, dark secret. When she revealed this dark secret, the words came out so solemnly and a shadow of panic crossed her angelic face. I was enveloped by mirth at her confession - not due to the absurdity of it all, on the contrary, the irony of it all struck me immediately - and once again, serves as a confirmation of what I have suspected all along. You see, a long time ago, back when I had acquired the newly minted title of "seductress", I discovered how liberating it was to torture and torment. Bruises, bitemarks, and clawmarks...I loved them all. I fondly remember gently applying NARS "Belle du jour" (how appropriate!) over my tender purple pout and looking in the mirror and giggling to myself. I wore that bruise as a badge of honor...every time I licked my lip it reminded me of that night of passion. It sounds more sinister than it actually was. I may have been more prone to developing this pattern of seduction due to my sordid past with men, however, I find that the older I get, the more I see that women are more adventurous than they were earlier in life. I perpetually felt that I would be judged harshly if I confessed my secret to a girlfriend when I was younger. Now, however, I am the one they are confessing to. The art of whore - it is a part of every woman - however small the fragment may be...

Comrade Von Pussycat

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