You are not Her

If we briefly met. Strangers in a fleetingly, random encounter. It does not matter that we seem to instinctively suit. Even if we are a perfect match, I am somebody else’s property. She may not suit me as well as you, but I am locked away. Someone has the key.

And you are not Her.

The model good looks “ten” I pass. That eyes me with disdain. Even if you wanted me alone, in private and within reach. I’d know to pleasure someone else with one hundred times the enthusiasm, regardless of her appearance. She wouldn’t even have to utter a single word. A certain look would have me begging. Desperate on my knees.

And you are not Her.

Even if by some miracle I ended up in the bedroom of that girl by the bar. She laid out, relaxed… beckoning for me to start. I’m sorry but without even asking, someone else would have me at their feet. With the simple click of fingers, I’d be serving… until time lost all meaning. Unfortunately, I will never be with you. I belong to somebody else.

And you are not Her.

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