You’ll know you’ve set me off when I suddenly begin to leave lipstick trails down your neck and torso. The red paint there will turn you on, strike you as erotic, but it should scare you a little bit, too. I never have made up my cheeks or lips, you know. I prefer for you to color me in instead – flushing my skin and kissing me until my mouth is bruised and swollen.
So if there’s a tube of crimson war paint sitting by the bathroom mirror after I’ve brushed my teeth for bed, consider it a warning. I’ll be just around the corner, ready to tear your clothes off, but not in a way that says I want you or I care. No. If I’m painting you red, it’s all lipstick and illusions, and a lot more lust than love.