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A Matter of Perspective You strut in, not unnoticed, playing to the eyes of a man whose mind preys on the sight of beauty such as yours. Into the parlor you roam drink in hand, so sure, so stern, eliciting awe, like tetras in the dentist’s neon tank: roaming, looking for action. I’ve seen you here before, in that same outfit, cruising through the room with such arrogance and sophistication. There’s a pout, then a smile, as you zero in on your next victim. Me? I am weak and cannot resist your imploring impertinence, and rise, winking, certain you’ll not remain this manipulative, once you’re out of diapers. |
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