The Look Of A Femme Fatale

The apologetic smirk on my face the day I see you, after what we did. No, not you and me, me and someone you know very well, as do I. Now.

We met at my favorite bar, at around 8.

He approached me as I was sitting alone. I am not too keen on holding conversations with men in bars, they’re usually dull, and vulgar and they only have one thing in mind: sex.

For some reason I found myself responding every word, laughing coquettish, and all together showing interest. What a change.

After a few hours of drinking and teasing, I was seduced by his philosophies, the way he presented himself as—sexy, and all the shenanigans he would tell me about, so much sexual tension was building up, and those musician hands were just adding up to it.. I grabbed my beer and chugged it, god that must have been so sexy.

At this point I knew I was in trouble, I knew I had the strange desire to see him naked, I knew the minute I laughed and caressed his shoulder he had a wife or a girlfriend at least, by the way his face filled with resentment. But I also knew we shared the same strange desire. And somewhat, knowing he was committed to someone else drew me in closer.

At the sound of the keys on his doorknob I felt strangely in peace with myself. He wanted me all along. He is not going to fall in love with me, he loves you. He is not doing this because he doesn’t love you, or because he feels troubled. Girls are set to be pretty traps, sexy as they smoke a cigarette and sip in their beer, while wearing a cute little dress, and classy heels — all alone at the bar. We are set up for temptation. If you take us you’re the sinner, if we take you we are the sin.

I realized men in relationships are the sexiest, you don’t have to care for them, nor be emotional support. They’re sex machines, when you’re done you stay or leave to your perspective apartments and go on with your lives. Men in relationships never expect too much from you, too much of what I can’t give them. In fact they don’t expect anything at all other than distant fucking. For a girl who likes her liberty, who is afraid of commitment and thinks relationships are messy and people’s feelings get hurt, men in relationships are the sans pareil.

I like what I can’t have, even though I do not want them. Does that make me a masochist? Wait, but I can manipulate them, chew them and spit them out; just because I because I can. Almost as if I feel a strange pleasure in exhorting other people’s feelings. Only that they have no feelings for me, it couldn’t be more perfect.

I wasn’t too pleased of his spotless apartment, his made bed, his clean restroom — his perfect life.

He popped a wine bottle open, how classy — we’ve been drinking beer all night. I took off my six inch lace heels and pulled my Louis Vuitton dress a few inches up. He took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

I jumped up to the kitchen table of his suite and he stood in front of me, we conversed for a few minutes more, drinking wine, piercing through each other’s eyes—it was almost inevitable. The attraction that is; the sexual desire. My lady parts were throbbing. He finally stepped forward, leaning towards me and I wrapped myself around him, finally making our lips touch, feeling in our bodies the imbalanced chemicals, of something new.

The grace of our movements in bed, the sexual tension left at the bar, sweaty-ness and hot body temperatures. All for a one night stand.

I smile, because I know what I did with your boyfriend last night, I smile because you will never find out, I smile because I use men to my advantage, and not to worry, yours was just another game of mine. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

image – Johan Larsson

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