I am no shrinking violet.
I do not bend nor break easily.
Sometimes a girl just needs someone…. who knows that the fuck to do with it.
I howl at the moon when she is full. That is what animals do. At my core I am an animal. I am muscle and fur stretched over the skeleton which moves as designed.
I cannot be caged. That is the death of me.
I am deliberate in my purpose. I drink until I am full.
As the crescent turns to the circle my breathing becomes hastened, my smell drifts across miles taunting you.
There is fight within me. I use it often to secure my position as the baddest bitch on the range.
There is malice in my intentions. I mean you no good. None. At. All.
I intend to kick and scratch and bite and spit and wail and weep and slam myself repeatedly against you until it is only the sound of coupling that resonates and the other beasts hide from the intensity.
I will make you conquer me.
That victory places the crown on your mane as all kneel to the one who pummeled me into submission.
You met my intensity with your voracity unrepentant at the mess left behind.
In that mess is me.