TO THE MAN WHO THINKS HE CAN DRIVE MY CAR

burlesque

He asks me why I am not in the driver’s seat. I laugh because he thinks he can drive my car. “This guy,” I chuckle to myself. “I bet he doesn’t even know how to drive a stick.”

The guy is a handsome set of teeth and he’s tall. Too tall? I don’t know. I suppose that depends on his ego and whether he is the same size when I cut him down and I intend to. I call the process natural selection. My mate will know no rival. The rest are all exclusion, voids of rejected passes. How many passes? All of them. I will reject them all. I am saving my magic for the chosen one as he will be a king above other men.

The man with the flashy smile writes to ask me about control, “Are you looking for someone to take control… and take your sassy self?’

Now I am thinking about Christian Grey standing in front of me with a riding crop and shackles. I take them both from him, the shackles I leave without need for use. I let them fall to the floor and as I do I move closer with my flogging stick. My lips are at his ear as I whisper. “Do really think you can take me.”

I am more powerful than him. I will always be more powerful and yet I enjoy that his body is dominant and strong. He doesn’t indicate that he is uncomfortable, but I see him clench his jaw as he realizes that the upper hand is mine and he no more than a play thing.

He smile is contemptuous as he grabs my wrist. His hands make my bones small and childlike, until I am frail and easily tossed. “Yes,” he says as he pulls me closer to a hold that could teach me submission. “I know I can take you.”

I am not yet moved, nor am I excited. “Oh yeah?” I remove his vice with dexterity. “I’d like to see you try.”

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