What must you never do?

You must never settle. It is a crime against life to subordinate your beauty to the market––and make no mistake, ardent young men with recommendation letters from their mothers are a market. The point is to refuse the negotiation: you must accept nothing, or impossible things. If you negotiate, then you will pay for your crime against life with life sentence that pairs you with a needy dullard––forever.

What does it behove you to do?

It behoves you to demand that which cannot be given. Here, that means courting the vampire; you must invoke the powers of darkness and surrender to them––I'm sure you've seen the movie. Fuck it, you're young, and your life is still too short to accept anything short of the brooding, brutal masculinity that has you gasping in the dark at 3am. That'd be me. I am not pretty, but I am an exercise in what attractive looks like when it's enacted in scar tissue. Physically fit, socially dominant, and sufficiently intelligent to make assault and battery look like the ballet: I'm every boss, professor, father-substitute, and avatar of abasement that's troubled your thoughts with an impulse of desire.

Who are you?

You are lost, wayward, tragic; beauty lies easy on you, but it is the beauty of sorrow rather than youth or dumb luck. You are not a slave your appetites so you are slim; work is not alien to you, so you are toned. Like me, you are intelligent, but it is interpretive intelligence: puzzle-solving is for spergy virgins; interpretation tokens the cool, sardonic consciousness that every worthwhile thought comes from or goes to. You are this alpha, this omega. You are things I cannot anticipate.

What happens next?

You will perform the calculus of opportunity. If lies are what need to be told, you will tell them to whoever needs to hear them. You message me and I reply; we quickly exchange photos and establish that we are attracted. We arrange to meet sooner rather than later. You will prepare for our meeting like you are preparing yourself for a ritual, which you will be, in a sense. What ritual? The sacred ritual of risk, where we put everything on black and roll the wheel. But it's OK: I'm the wheel and my only colour is black––our number will come up. So do it! Do it now! Roll the wheel and start a revolution.

Sometimes we all need to start again.