It was while a tarantula was sitting comfortably in my palm, legs couched like suspension, that the
It was while a tarantula was sitting comfortably in my palm, legs couched like suspension, that the instructor gave me a quick lesson on scorpions. “It’s not the ones with the big pincers that you have to worry about. It’s the tails you need to watch.” Misdirection writ large, the kind of metaphor you pray might happen, the writer part of your brain switching on like a big neon sign, pleading with three words, each of them ‘Please’ in bigger font. The part of your brain that’s grinning, right at that moment. It’s not the pincers you need to watch, but they hypnotise so. They sway from left to right, and they intimidate when they need to. It’s the fatness of the tail, the longevity of it all, the fact that the thicker that appendage, the more pain you’re going to be in, that you should be paying attention to. Which is my cue to say that it’s the quiet girls that are the most deadly, that will slip under your skin and not let go, make their home in your veins, wandering the outflow before you’re well and truly done. But this metaphor is one that has no legs, and is thoroughly unuseful when it comes to categorising women. Because you can’t do that. Not if you’d rather not be called an idiot. The personality has nothing to do with the intimidation; or, to be more accurate, how much a girl intimidates has nothing to do with whether they will last, and pass through the first few weeks, make it past that initial hump and lasts for months, if not more. It could be the quiet girl in the corner, or it could be the life of the party. Women are not scorpions. A tenet that I repeat to myself every morning. And the metaphor continues, unused, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Quite like a… -- source link
#dominance#submission#bondage#fetish#erotica