As her eyes scan through this dull room, vacant, she sees nothing of interest until she finds your face. Her eyes find your jaw, firm and masculine, and then your lips, soft and sensual. She begins to scan your face and, were she truthful with herself, she would admit she is looking for your flaws. She searches, her eyes could have memorized that face. Flawless, she finally admits. For a split second, she dreams of a future. She dreams of holding that gentle yet manly hand. She imagines your strong arms wrapping themselves around her delicate but voluptuous body; finding their way down util the tips of your fingers meet the end of her shirt and you tenderly pull it over her head. But before she can continue with that beautiful fantasy, she realizes that this is never to be. For you are a vulture in this hierarchy of students, and she is a carcus. You will look her over, you will pick her over and perhaps those hands will meet that skin but those hands will be rough. They will be too hot. And while those arms may be strong, they will be strong with violence and wanting rather than passion and longing. There will be no sense of admiration for th ebody in front of your ravishing eyes. You will simply act, with an heir of greed and entitlement.

I will lose my sight if I allow myself to bury underneath you, but you are under my skin like a flea or a tick. As hard as I scrub, pull, brush and beg, you will not let me go until there is nothing left of me. In a morbid way, I don't mind.