Sitting and waiting. And watching. I am always watching, carefully studying them, deciding who will become the next one. Always searching for the one who will satiate me, the one who will stop the hunger. And, for a while, it works, but it always returns. It starts with a pang low in my belly, slowly growing, filling my being, and consuming me whole. Like a junkie fixing for my next hit or a wild animal stalking its next meal.
They're all the same, too. They break so easily. And not just physically break; they break mentally just as easily. It's one thing to break bones with a flick of my wrist, but to be able to do it continually, to listen to her cry, is another thing. I love it when they cry, begging me to stop twisting their limbs at angles the human body was never meant to be bent at. Their cries are always so pitiful, yet underneath all the fear, there's hope and pride. Those two things are what I feed on, or rather, taking away those two things.
Across the street, a brunette steps out of a bodega, pulling her sunglasses out of her coat pocket. Her movement captivates me because she does it with a confidence I've never seen before. She obviously thinks she's the shit. If I looked like her, I'd think I were the shit too. She's feeding my hunger, even from across the street. I can already picture the things I'd love to do to her. Rip her black pea coat off, fill my hands with her hair, ravage her body so completely, leaving her gasping and crying my name…but I need to hold off, to delay gratification until I can actually have my way with her. I need to fend off the orgasm welling within me, wait until it's at its peak and I can't stand it any longer.
Her cell phone, it's ringing. I can hear it, just barely, over the noise of the traffic.
"Hey ass," she says. She has this sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her lips, one that's trying to lure me over to her and wipe it off with the back of my hand. "I can fly circles around you."
Who is she talking to, I wonder. A boyfriend? I hope not, they always make things messier than necessary.
"No, huh? Well, when I get back to the carrier, we'll have to test that theory. It won't be for a while, so make sure you practice."
I need to know her; to know all there is about her. This woman excites me like none have before. I learned about all the others, but they were dull, mere toys for my hands, stimulating only my body's most primitive responses, leaving my synapses longing for more.
Why this one?
She says more, but her words die before they reach my ears. What I heard was enough to whet my whistle, setting my nerve endings ablaze. Her voice is like a good cigar: smoky, soft, and completely addicting.
I have to have her.