I adore the unsavory, events, activities, but most particularly people. Like with wonderous snacks it is the overwhelming rush of flavor that peaks my initial interest with sumptuous and unquestionably decadent scent, bedazzling my desire for flavor, copiously delivering fulfillment beyond any expectation, honing me hunger for just one more bite of delicious badness.
Each one of my truly memorable lovers have been deeply flawed, sometimes through unfortunate circumstance, but on occasion from intent, and design when guided through the very worst of inclinations is perfection personified. Every attraction was instantaneous, undiluted, allowing no denial or second thought, drawn together like opposingly poled magnets, to cling, affixed, indivisible, till whatever magic had induced the melding dissipated in a sudden predictably painful burst of that ultimate passion killer, normalcy.
Perhaps my last femme fatal will be a siren, unquestionably beautiful, with sighing eyes and pouting lips.