Outwitting the Overgrown Cherub

The man was young; curly blonde hair like a grown-up cherub and a lean, powerful body. He exuded confidence smeared with the oiliness of a sexual predator. He was dangerous. His smile was dark, never meeting his eyes. The fact that I saw his eyes frightened me. He saw me.

There was one play I could make. He wanted prey, to pounce and catch. The hunt was thrilling for him. To beat him, I needed to WANT to fall for him. I needed to actually DESIRE him.

Oddly, I found myself close, touching, and not harmed. He smelled captivating. I did not fear him. I studied him. I met him move for move. He sat back and contemplated this change of events. I felt I had gained a level. I was no longer prey to be toyed with and cast aside. I was worthy of keeping. He had me and I had him.

What once looked sinister was now colored with empathy. He was misunderstood. He needed retraining. He needed a queen. The lion could purr like a kitten. I would live this day and many more if I remained indispensable.

Challenge accepted.