You know how it goes. You're two drinks into the date and you realise that they young guy you're with is vainer than you are––and let's be clear: you're pretty fucking vain. He means well of course, with his plans and his humblebrags and his cute little mannerisms, but this, really, is not where it's at: behind all the bluff and the squid ink you can still hear it––the siren-song of male insecurity that irritates your ears like a car alarm in the distance. Vanity, you realise, is merely the obverse of self-doubt.

So where is it at? Where's at is the serpent's gaze: the heart-fluttering eros of being trapped by the stare of a man who is so far past self-doubt that he makes Isambard Kingdom Brunel look like a ditherer. I mean, of course, me. If you want to be immersed in the elemental force of masculinity I can at once ground you in the dirt and lift you to the sky––because that's what masculinity does, right? It sees an abyss and leaps over it. You're the abyss.

Why I am I so sure of this? I've been around. Whether it's taking beatings or giving them isn't the point: the point is to not be afraid of the fight. You don't need to hear about my work journey, but be assured that I've taken my share of the laurels over the years, and I can help you take yours. I am intellectually accomplished, physically in peak condition, and possessed of a will to power that you can shatter yourself against ten times over. When I glance over you, you will feel it as an icy, libidinous thrill that says: I've finally met someone worth meeting. (Funny, charming, solvent––yes, yes, of course, goes without saying.)

You'll be elegant, beautiful and petite, say 25-37 in age (I work on myself, so this is not a unilateral demand). And because it is better to ask for too much than too little, you will also be erudite and have a sardonic sense of humour. Maybe you're an artist, or an academic, or poet––whatever works for you. You're here because the liaison you seek won't announce itself on Tinder, and all the prigs in your social circle would condemn you for being turned on by men who are older. Such radical empathy!

Maybe you're in a relationship; I don't especially care. Nosferatu can be pluralist that way. Maybe you're kinky; the vampire bends that way too. Or maybe life is just too fucking short to spend a single night more staring at the ceiling desiring for things that you need only to reach out to take.

So message me and we can branch the universe. We're already out there in some possible world, you and me. Let's make it this one.