... or maybe it's the sneer of cold command, or the brute brute heart of a brute like me.
You understand all of this or none of it. If it's the latter, you know where the door isββgo tease some thirsty manling instead. If it's the former, then go the same way, unless you can add 'elegant' and 'beautiful' to 'intellectually perspicacious'. Do you exist? Probably not, but if you do, you won't be found by the Tinder algorithm, so I might as well try here.
What's that? Who am I to impose conditions on you? I'm the scowling asshole on the tube reading his inscrutable fuck-you book. I'm the sardonic professor that made you feel simultaneously stupid and aroused when he questioned you. I'm the impulse of energy that like an eagle in a dovecote fluttered your Volscians in Corioles. Alone I did it.
I'm 45, in excellent physical shape, university professor and business owner. You are 25-35, and in addition to the features already mentioned, have a mordant sense of humour and an appreciation of pleasure, beauty, and sorrow. We will establish physical attraction early, meet soon after, and career head-first into so much fun that we'll make Ibiza look like a fucking North Sea oil rig.
And from the tumult, the transformation: we will both come out the better for our encounter, but you will emerge more confident, more accomplished, and more sagacious. I will find potentialities in you that you did not know were there; the ones you do know are there I will tend to like a garden.
But none of this will happen unless you talk to me. So talk.
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