Apart I can smell the kink on you. It rises off you like a fine perfume, but it cuts through the roo

Apart I can smell the kink on you. It rises off you like a fine perfume, but it cuts through the room like a knife, and grabs my attention as if you had run it across my throat. I can see it, too, in the way that you hold yourself. It’s a preternatural sense, something beyond the usual six, and it’s playing havoc with my gut right now, twisting it into all sorts of knots.  It’s the self awareness, mostly. It’s the knowledge that you know exactly what you want, and vague affirmations of manhood or masculinity, shallow aspirations of wealth and material gain or even worse something as trite as basic attractiveness are social norms that you don’t have to conform to. You’ve decided to step away from the treadmill and wander your own path, and that’s the kind of knowledge that gives you power. Gives you aires, and maybe a little grace. It sets you apart from the others. The kink has changed you, irrevocably I’m afraid, into something slightly different. It means you can rise out of a group of similarly attractive women, and somehow be the only one I’m at all interested in paying attention to. You’re the woman who has made the conscious decision to be something else, and I’m the man who’s made the conscious decision to find you.  I wonder if it’s as obvious on me.  -- source link

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