You’re smart. Smart and rational enough to make the distinction to the erroneous belief that women are inherently inferior to men and the fact that you want to be treated as if you are inherently inferior to men.

In fact, I wouldn’t want a dumb woman. Dumb, pliable doormats are kinda boring. I want someone like you, a challenge. Someone who deep down wants to be made to submit. I want a woman smart enough to know how deeply fucked up we both are. I want someone who can intellectualize the psychology that underlies her desires and yet is still unable to prevent the bad things she wants from placing her in increasingly compromising positions.

I want a woman that creams herself to the idea of constantly having that feeling of being on a roller coaster that is equal parts hope, fear, and butterflies. Someone who craves both the saccharinely sweet side of me that will make you coffee, prepare your dinner, and take you to Disneyland and the ripping out of your heart with a few well-timed words.

I want to show you there's nobody I care more about than you, that no harm will come to you except as it pleases me.

I want to make you feel small, embarrassed, weak, and stupid.

I want to validate all your insecurities.

I want to make you feel like a throwaway, a doormat, a used fucking condom nobody fucking wants the moment it’s spent.

I want to talk about your weight and what you eat. I want to remind you that you’re greedy, selfish, and undisciplined.

I want all the reasons why you're not good enough to be kept front of mind so you'll keep striving for that elusive perfection.

I want to talk about all the people in your life that made you crave someone like me.

I want to deny you approval, love, affection, and sexual pleasure simply because I derive emotional and sexual satisfaction from you being in need.

I want you to assure me that you’d leave me if I treated you like a vanilla girl.

I want you to have the best time of your life with me. I want to laugh, and have fun, and take you on dates to coffee shops and lay under covers with you. I want you to think that my approval is nearly in reach and then snatch that joy from your mouth and swat you on the nose with a newspaper like a fucking dog.

Let’s talk.

While I hold a special place in my heart for legal teens who love their dad, you’re all at the back of the line. Legal teens generally don’t have the kind of smarts I’m looking for yet. But I don’t mind you trying.