I have a type. I like a certain variety and everything else is just… less than. I’ve realized in stepping back, how totally and completely predictable I am.
It’s just too funny when I think about it. It’s a description of everything I love and look for. I’ve perfected my bad boy habit, at the very least. I can see it written all over the boys I love best.
Mr. Biter. Mr. Unfaithful. Mr. Funny. Mr. Mean. Mr. Hot. Mr. Inspirational. Mr. Addictive. Mr. Exciting. Mr. Bad. Mr. Smart & last but more important? Mr. Sharky. Make your heart race when he talks to you kind of guy. Butterflies in your stomach. Blush like a little girl goodness.
Nice hands, knowing smile. Makes you hold your breath a little when he walks up to you. Lump in your throat, tingly inspired sort of reaction. He says more than anyone else understands when he talks to you. He reads. He knows. He uses it to his advantage.He’s like the center of gravity and you are pulled to see him, even if you’re guaranteed to be disappointed.
He’s confident, he doesn’t give a shit what you write about it, he’s inspired to make it good. He’s not worried about you hating him a little. He’s more determined to make you write something pornographic. He isn’t afraid of a challenge. He’s excited by it, and is more than man enough to keep you on your toes. He recognizes it for what it is. Personalized porn… which beats fear any day.
He can’t help but dance next to you when you’re dancing. He’s not uptight. He’s man enough to know other men will want you. He’s confident enough to know you can’t always say no, but he knows how to make you beg for it.
Because he’s that good. Totally and completely worth the sacrifice of your self respect and happy to show you over and over again that you have good reason to worry. Wanted, hunted and at times willing prey. You can’t blame him, you can only keep up with him.
He’s smoking hot, has the moves to back it up and leaves you stupid satisfied and contemplating a painkiller with your breakfast. Or lunch if he’s really the perfect man. Shit…. while we’re manifesting, dinner.
He who writes the map. He who knows too much. He who we all really want.
I’m just willing to admit it.
He who sacks up. He who remembers. He who exploits you with what he’s learned.
To be smart about it… there are a few other details worth asking for…
He who works every day. He who wants to. He who knows his way around Coach & Tiffany. He who takes you to Vegas to see just how bad you can really get. He who can’t be shocked.
He who doesn’t have to take you to Vegas to find out.
He who changes the oil, cooks a perfect steak and takes out the trash… because I am habitually domestic, after all. He who kills the mice. Bless his beautiful magnificent heart.
He who’s earned your fabulous ass. He who knows it…. and He who is worthy.
He who doesn’t exist, so your freedom is safe and sound.