There she sits, on top of the dresser, my desperate addiction. She is whispering to me. "Come to me... hear my sweetTalking Headspoetry," she sings, her supple white curves seducing my mind from afar.

I am cheating on my wife; I cheat on her every day. The little seductress fits in my pocket and sings to me on my way to work, telling me all of the old stories I've heard throughout my life. By now, she can almost read my thoughts; she knows to follow Nothingman with Ordinary World, just like I like it. She knows that when I want to hear Nirvana, I most likely will want a Massive Attack chaser; when I hear Morissey bringing my soul to the floor, They Might Be Giants will be just the rebound I need.

I can still remember the day she first came to me, delivered direct from her all powerful maker. I opened her box and she lay there before me, as snow white as a virginal bride on her wedding day. It was love at first sight, like the glimpse you get of that one perfect woman on that one perfect day that will make you masturbate for the rest of your life.

Things grew from there; I filled her with my loves, my thoughts, my memories, my secret passions -- my ever-loving soul. She touched my soul through my hard drive and copied those pieces that she would need to make me hers. She copied them into her monochrome heart and she's kept them there ever since.

I am completely powerless in this relationship; my precious little companion holds all the cards and she knows it. Just like the tendrils of an octopus, she knows which thread to pull to make me move to her rhythm. She can pull out a string of thinking man's rock or just as quickly fill me up with music to move my body to.

Her white tendrils find their way up the sides of my cheeks and straight into my brain, coming closer to my inner thoughts than any other lady ever has. She fulfills my fantasies and tells me about my dreams. She sings of my past and of my future. She can Ride the Lightning and just as quickly fill me with thunder. I am but a pawn in her chess game.

I take a jog over my lunch break and she is there, hanging onto my arm like an easy lover. I need a special rhythm that only she can give me, and she gives me what I need through those thin white lines. We drive forward, pounding with a mighty rhythm, driving forward like a lightning bolt. She even sings to my moment of euphoria and my moment of collapse without missing a beat.

I walk into my house after a long day, and she flashes herself at me, giving me a hint that she needs to rest for a while before we consumate our relationship again. My wife watches me tend to her needs, not suspecting a thing. It is a subtle dance the three of us share, as my wife plays the innocent bystander as the musical devil steals my soul.

The temptation grows the longer my precious darling sits there. I know she's waiting for me as the moments pass; her lovely batteries filling full of that electric energy that she needs, that only she can give me.

Then my chance comes; my wife leaves to go buy some groceries, but my mind is already thinking of the lady on the dresser before my wonderful wife is even outside.

I cannot help it. I am powerless to resist her, and so I go to her once again.

I fall to the bed, unraveling the old white line from the source straight into my mind. I close my eyes as her sweet whiteness burrows into my mind, bringing me to her unholy mercy. And our love begins again, straight from the top. She tells me the same old stories, again and again. She rests on my shoulder, whispering the first lie in my ear, sedating me, making me feel like everything is the gray normalcy of my everyday life.

I feel the first stirrings of something greater blowing softly across my skin, and before long her seduction is complete; with just a few short words, she pulls me into her secret fantasies. I move like a phantom through her world, and with the merest of a wink, I float on beside her like a sickened doppelganger.

The rush slowly begins to sneak in and I can feel the heat of her breath upon my arm. She wants me. She wants my soul, and I am powerless to resist. She shares her passion with me, using the words and voices of many seductresses, tempting me with her amazing sexuality, making my male world fill with her feminine inquisition.

We share our minds and our beliefs as we get into a shared universe, mixed with pain and truth. We move our bodies together to an old familiar rhythm. And then the cataclysmic rush sets in, the final ejaculatory impulse, the race to orgasm. I am mounted with unbridled force and suddenly she is riding me like a massive steed, pushing me forward with mindbending rhythm, building to an unbearable climax of blinding noise and passion...

And then she leaves me with waves of silence filling my eardrum. I am prostrate before her, completely lost to her will, and her will is to leave me like this, an empty shell of my former self, left only to hope each day to break free of the soft waves upon her beach.

I will break free of this. I will break free of her old tricks. Tomorrow, I'll make new friends who will whisper different tales to me, and maybe this time I'll find a new way to nirvana.

But as for tonight? She'll tell me those same old stories all over again, and I'll fall for them like I always do.

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