Go ahead, be a creep. I want you to. (I know, it’s fucked up.)
Make me ache to know if you are even thinking of me. But BE thinking of me, all the time.
I want to be whatever you want me to be.
Sneak around, stare at me from afar. Make me wonder if that’s you. Follow me around during the day, when we are both supposed to be acting normal. Later, pounce on me in an alley or a half-lit staircase. Scare me a little.
Don’t splurge on a fancy hotel. It’s not what I want. Not really. I want the scummiest hotel room, over on the edge of town, where people only joke about going. Where we will only go after dark, late, so no one we know recognizes us. Make me ashamed with the realization of my wanting it. Make me love it.
Let me forget who I am. Don’t try to know me. Knowing is unsexy. Feel me. Make me wait, longing for your touch. Watch me, and tell me how dirty I am. Make me wet. Make me beg.
Do whatever the fuck you want to with me and don’t feel bad about it. Feel great. Use me. I want you to.
I’m ready for it. I’m dying for it. Surprise me, show me what I don’t know, what I’ve never even imagined. I will love it. Then leave me hanging. Don’t show up, don’t call, don’t text. Don’t communicate. Remember, make me ache.
Never talk to me again. Please.