There was a brilliant way
She had a virginal quality
that contrasted her ice-cold outer shell.
Looking back, I realize
I was the only one to notice.
Yeah, she was a bitch, for sure.
Her breasts, her cheekbones, her legs.
She saw it all in the mirror every morning
and was well aware
of the power held therein.
No one could touch her or intimidate her.
She rarely looked anyone in the eye.
I once saw Brad Dorsey,
captain of the soccer team,
crying by his locker.
She dumped him after one date
and took his balls with her.
From that day forward,
he never played sports again.
This was a prime example
of the witchery she casts.
But I wasn’t attracted to her pale beauty.
I was more turned on
by the little girl within.
It was this thought
that I masturbated to, every afternoon.
And not her thighs or flat stomach.
I imagined her breaking down
and begging me never to leave her
because I was the only one
who truly understood the Velouria within.
And when I finished,
I looked at the small puddle of cum
I had generated and wondered…
“Why did I just waste this
on a table top?”