Faster Pussycat

Flash flash flash a bit of skin but not too much. I’m good at this art form of the feminine form of wiles all the while I’m flirty pink female dangerous flesh but far more dangerous words.

Look but don’t touch not much not until I’ve had my fill reeled in the kill and sated. But I’m not going about it in the usual way, that scurrilous scandalous supercilious way. I play up the damaged goods angle, the sexy goods angle, the saucy and lost, tarty and dirty but shy angle. Demurely provoking beck and call behind a long dark eyelash curl.

There’s nothing demure to that play I play so well in the historic bygone style of luscious betties and seductive janes. I’m out for treasure, but not the gold kind, the buried kind the real kind the kind you just don’t find. This is a show, burlesque by force but it’s not a pat down or a put-down, a put-on or a shakedown, it’s a showdown: my wit and your brawn in a fight to the death or at least to the break-up. But you can never take me and rarely will you take me down because I’m sharp fluid motor curves and quick.

Believe hushed tones from a full red pout please believe that I actually do bleed when you can’t match me word for word. Even as I catch sight of your delicate swaggering sunlit outline ambling towards me in the distance and everything screams no go, no go, I allow myself split-second thoughts as I allow myself every other indulgence.

I wish you’d kick the candy-coated doors wide open, tangle velvet tresses in your grasp and drag me out reminding me how small and fragile I am, but only after you’ve overpowered me with a mere thought because nothing quite so impresses my place upon me as a well-written missive in the dark. Hurdles jumped, you’re free to take from me as though it never belonged to me in the first, simply claim righteous debts and in the final hours of the tie-me-down, stake-your-claim victory rape fuck, I’d have been reborn remade redeemed.

Sadly the crushing pressure of my crashing expectations is all it takes to topple the worthiest and most steadfast of suitors. Chances lost I’ll cut you to the quick, lash out knife sharp razor like tongue blade and leave you reeling not knowing what or where but stinging all the same. And with that I’m good as gone down the road, hightailin’ it back cross country on my murderous rampage route due west because I’m living fast and free, no cares no cares.

“Faster, pussycat! Kill! Kill!” 

Thought I’d make it easy give it easy hand it over, surrender it willingly? Learn to read as I blow you kisses in a flurry of poisonous goodbyes.

(This post brought to you in part by The Cramps’ Smell of Female album and the Russ Meyer film.)