#not an invitation to flood my ask box

I’m going to devour you. Place you on a surface, it doesn’t matter what, and consume you. Turn you into something to be inhaled, and then suck you in through my lungs. Every little piece of you, running through my consciousness, filtered through a sieve. I want you to leave parts of you behind, distilled. 

But then that’s always what I say. I’m the active voice in all this, and you’re just the passive receiver. You’re the one who reads, squeezes her legs together, and smiles that smile that’s halfway between a knowing smirk and a chaste fluster. That’s not you. You’re not some passive thing. You’d do things to me that I couldn’t imagine. You’re a creative force of your own.

So why don’t you devour me. I won’t stop you. I’ll lean back, unbutton my shirt, and why don’t you have at it. Let’s see what you can do, little girl, see if you can be a woman for once, rather than just the long haired beauty in the window that I pray to let down their hair. I’m sick of serenading; I want to hear you moan a melody. Come on down, the water is fine. 

Be the predator for once, and seek me out. Try to pin me down to to the bed and ravish me with your lips. Let’s see if you can have the balls enough for that. Pick up that gauntlet I’ve thrown at your feet, and let’s see what you can do. Because ‘sit quietly and read’ really isn’t the full roster of your talents, I’m fairly sure of that.