She totters over in high heels and hands you a martini, then plops next to you and speaks French in one ear and Latin in the other. You can't tell if she's propositioning you or telling you about what she thinks of Camus. Her slender hands slide down your pants and.... HELLO! She must not be thinking of Camus. You tell her you have to finish the martini first, but she grabs your hair, looks you in the eyes and says RIGHT NOW, FUCKWIT.
(cue soundtrack: pots and pans thrown, cats screaming, crashing, banging, the sudden rearrangement of furniture, explosive decompression, sounds you normally don't hear outside of delivery rooms...)
So afterwards, when you're both drenched in sweat, invoking God's name in the most unholy of manners and smoking her cheap foreign cigarettes you talk about Wiles's proof of FLT, and she makes rude noises. Amateurs!, she says. Kolyvagin was SUCH a poseur. You both decide to drive to NYC to take in a few art galleries. She packs. Her bag is alarmingly small. You say, did you pack any clothes? She smiles and says No silly, that's why I've got you.
You like abstract impressionists. She scoffs. Can she believe her ears? Can you be that stupid? Abstract impressionism is for worms who read too goddam many art books, who only see the kind of art others have already judged. She walks down the street. You're admiring the confident swivel in her hips. She turns and walks back, grabs your tie and pulls. Coming with me?, she asks. Art's dead by the time it's hung in museums, baby. If you want to see art I know all the best places. Places you've never heard of. You've got to see it where it's made.
Life is like that with her. She's a skinny thing who swings her long arms when she moves. Her mind is razorwire. It can cut and it can sting, and if you like that sort of woman, baby, she's the only one for you. She doesn't worry about your fidelity. Where are you ever going to find another woman like her?
Okay so I'm freaky like that too. Kinda wondering if she exists, though, anywhere but in my mind.
A response to the writeup:
VERY REAL
Hooker, no. Ex-Escort, yes. Freakishly hi IQ? Never checked, but I am very well educated, speak 3 langs, and love traveling. Just FYI,
from a woman who was in the industry: we're somewhat different people when were not "working."
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