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The men in the clubs fall in love in the span of a heartbeat. The boys on the street lie with the ease of the con artist. They both see what they want to see in me, but they never see what I am.  We're all looking for the instant gratification we can get in the spare moments of freedom. A smile, a knowing look shared with some wicked face, and the intention is clear - I want you, only for a moment. We are in agreement. I laugh when they think they are so tricky and duplicitous. But it doesn't change the desire or the outcome.I find a face which excites me, something which ignites the fire in my belly. There is always some innate, exquisite pain I need. I never understood why, but I must surf that edge before my completion. His innocence is a knife that cuts sweetly and nourishes my desire. There is an agony in me at ruining something so precious. He's barely more than a boy - he's a beautiful, pale-skinned dark-haired man-child who thinks it's romantic to serve time on the street. So young, he offers himself up to things he cannot understand. So beautiful and unlined and fresh. His translucent flesh blushes easily. He's not fully cast into the armor of the night yet. His eyes flash from innocence to cunning and back, and I watch his progression from boy to man to boy again and again and I become flushed and wet. I imagine the torment of merely kissing him, wishing somehow to protect him from me - just a kiss, and then I won't taint him. Just draw him into the shadows, complicit smiles, an unexpected touch, his slight height over me, the instant as he bends his head to lower his lips to mine. I picture the line of his jaw and how my red-stained nails will look against the blue-milk of his skin. Just a kiss. And the temptation I give myself - the scalpel of my nail softly pressing against his throat. In the long moments between his heartbeats I can tease myself with the desire and the throb of blood within.  It's like watching the birth of a beautiful predator. His path is split before him - he could still choose anything at this moment. But here - before he makes the decisions - when he still houses all the choices, all the promises of different futures living somewhere inside him - this is the time when I find him delicious. I see all his possibilities flicker behind his large luminous eyes and shy smile, and I want to devour him.It is so hard to hold back. Illusions of moderation are fleeting. I dream about ripping his skin in ecstasy. I dream about leaving lovely red love bites on him, penetrating into his flesh with my teeth as he writhes in a confusion of ecstasy. I dream about breaking him between my thighs, of riding him until he screams. I want to ruin him, to pour my sticky self all over his body and lick it all back up. I dream of watching his eyes glaze and close beneath me, of hearing his sounds. I know what he will feel like already. I know how he will taste already. I know how his tongue will feel in my mouth, and how he will move for me. I dream of ripping open his soul and exposing it and watching the shadows feast upon one another in a symphony of bodily fluids. On the street, he looks at me in some feign of machismo as if to cast his spell. This poor beautiful darkling chooses me. I actually feel protective of him. I want to save him from me and my diseased passions. But I feel his burn and my own. And I let him take my hand and lead.
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