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I love strong men.  I need a strong man in my life, the way I need air or good coffee.  Around him, I center.  He is my focus, my purpose, my desire.  Life without him would be void.

And yet, when I become close with a beautiful woman, I feel absolutely predatory. I want to possess her, top her, make her scream .  I want to wind my fingers through her hair, pull her to me and force my tongue in her mouth.  I want to run my hands over her breasts and down between her legs.  I want her to kneel for me; I want cause the co-mingling of pain and pleasure in her.  I want to make her moan, make her mine if only for that moment.

Which all makes ordinary conversation rather difficult.  Fantasies playing out in my head accompanied by the tune of The Nameless.  In my heart she is my friend and this is nothing more than fantasy.  But it is an increasingly distracting fantasy when she is chatting away about the kids or the house or some-such.

I have come to notice that my female friends have always been stunningly beautiful.  I think I seek out friends I desire.  Yet, I cannot make a move.  I am taken, owned, loved.  I would never cheat.  But it makes for an interesting lunch date.