Why are you here?

We both know the answer to this. The simple fact is that you're in the long tail of the probability distribution of female desire and the vanilla shit just doesn't cut it. (Well, you're not that far into the tail, or you'd be somewhere crazier than here.) Dating apps are for the anxious-insecure who want to trade fucking for reassurance; you're more into the reassurance for fucking end of the transaction. The only app willing to monetise that is Grindr, and that's only because the bros aren't being as selective as they might otherwise be. So here we are instead: pleasant, professional you––all prettiness and pert competence––while in your heart a hell rages. But it can't be anyone who fans those flames; if you're going to surrender your every intimacy, it must be to someone worthwhile.

Why am I here?

I'm here for the same reason as you are. We can't advertise our desires in the clear without scandalising the prudes, so this is the best place to find someone worth meeting that isn't a dumping ground for the terminally unattractive. I have a lot to offer the project of your violation, and I will deliver on it. If you want to play the status game, I can do that, too: senior academic, business owner, in exceptional physical shape, leader in my field, gifted conversationalist, King of the Andals etc etc etc. Surrendering yourself to me will be benediction. But then you're clever, beautiful, and elegant, so we're both getting a burnt offering on this one.

What will we do?

We will meet in London for a drink and maybe a meal. Pictures will have been exchanged so we know there's mutual attraction; our conversation will show there's an intellectual frisson, too. An hour or two in, we will both get that heady feeling of a gulf opening at our feet that we are powerless except to fall into. Already, we will have been inappropriate, so when we get to the hotel room there will be little time for gentleness. A kiss will turn into a tightening of my grip on your body, and before you know what's happened, I will fall on you like an avalanche. You will feel exposed and used and ecstatic; every nerve you have will sing a hymn to its own violation. Once, twice, ten times––whatever it takes to expiate the reservoir of my need upon you.

What then?

I will out you back together, if only so that you can come out of the experience better than you entered it. Because you will be better: better than you've ever been. No more hiding in the shadows, no more gasps in the darkness of your own isolation. I will have seen your need and acted on it like it's never been seen before, even by you.

So message me now, and be seen.

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