04.30.05
The other day, I was reading back through the archives, when I came across my definition of the perfect man, circa March 01, 2001:
03.01.01
We're lying there snuggling, when I curl my hand up into a mass of claws and plunge it not-so-tenderly into the dorsal side of one of his lovehandles. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a 'what the fuck are you doing' look. I grin evilly, and huskily whisper, "Kali ma. Kali ma.""I'm afraid it's going to take a really long time to rip my beating heart out from back there," he replies, his face wrinkling in amusement.
In response I dig deeper with my claws and wriggle my fingers, chanting a little louder and more vigorously. Inspecting my handiwork, I am disappointed to note that my stubby little fingernails haven't even managed to dent his flesh.
I was thinking about this incident the other day, and realized that had I succeeded in plucking out his still-beating heart, I lacked the molten pit of lava in which to plunge his shaking body. As such, I have decided to alter the parameters that I have set for my ideal man.
My ideal man would not only let me plunge my talons into his chest and pull out his heart, but would also be willing to go out into the backyard and dig me a tunnel to the earth's molten core so that I could lower him in slowly, savoring his screams, while cackling maniacally as my fistful of cardiac muscle burst into magical flames.
That's true love, you know.
Perhaps, not coincidentally, around that time I stopped getting any, and have yet to score since*.
*I can't remember the exact date that I became celibate, but I'm fairly sure that it occured sometimes between 1/1 and 2/14.
Man, that's a really long time.
What's in your head?