I can fall in love with the back of a woman’s neck. There’s something in the del

I can fall in love with the back of a woman’s neck. There’s something in the delicate curve that tickles me in all the right places. I can fall in love with a hairline. I can become infatuated with the spread of your shoulders. But the instant any of these things catches me eye, the first thing I’ll do is try to get a look at your face.  It’s not as easy as it sounds, and me trying to explain it is going to paint me the pervert, the one who tries to get a look, steal a glance of the girl on the tube, the bus, the other side of the street. Sometimes I am that man. But while my curiosity is voracious, my sense of common decency wins out, more oft than not. But when I fall in love with the back of you, I need to see the front.  It’s the most rudimentary form of domination, that first glance. It’s wanting to meet you face to face, even if only from a distance, so that I can get the measure of you. So that I can pin you down, in my head, as this, or that, or the other thing. You’re entirely uninvolved, but from that first moment, when your features enter into my memorybanks, I’m wrestling with the concept of you, turning you into something I can manage, and control.  That’s probably just me, and I probably didn’t do such a brilliant job of not coming across as the pervert type, but you should ask yourself, dear reader, if you ever expected any less? You are reading this page, after all. The deviant mind is always going to be driven by perversion, in some way or another.  -- source link

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