There are days when we are terrifyingly tired, terrifyingly sad or just terrifying. But then the extremely unexpected strikes – blame it on hormones or the moon – and suddenly we are terrifyingly sexy. Oftentimes shy, we are suddenly filled to the brim with… well… desire. But not a passive, taking-it-lying-down kind of desire. Not an everyday we-have-needs kind of desire. Something much more active, predatory, confident and focussed. So, so focussed.
We don’t really discuss this these days with each other. Are we faintly ashamed of the random blossoming of a mega-horn? Is it unfeminine? Tragic? Obviously not, but those days when we are terrifyingly sexy are made obvious only to the lucky recipient of our advances.
And, by the way, if there is no recipient in residence, or in situ, or in the firing line, then we will find someone. There is no way around this mood. When a grown-up woman makes her mind up, she is not for turning. Because this is no adolescent frisk, this is an adult objective. We are problem-solvers, trouble-shooters – really scratching the terrifyingly sexy itch is not such a problem. Consider it done.
It doesn’t need Agent Provocateur, candles and moody music. On days like these, that is child’s play. If you are the one, you will know. We don’t grope or simper or even proposition. We don’t need to. You will know. We are luminous with it. It travels through the ether. “What’s come over you,” you might ask. Sssshhhh. And when it’s dealt with? Well, that’s just another thing to tick off the list, isn’t it? Until next time.