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I’ve gotten pretty good at recognising them. Brilliant. Sharp. Articulate. Beautiful mind and concise wit. Often anti-religion. More often, atheist. Anti-establishment. INFP. Sometimes, TP. Protocol-ly charming but socially inept, with just a hint of little-boy-lost and a whisper of save-me-mummy. Mysterious smile. Low sense of self. My weakness. My type.

I don’t know what it is that draws me to this type. Daddy issues probably, since he was one before he found God. Except I haven’t had much luck with them. The blatant fascination isn’t mutual. Except at the physical level, which doesn’t say much.

And so my latest strategy is to run from them kicking and screaming. Except … they’re sooooo smart. And sooooo witty. And a part of me is itching to take apart their minds and find the gems hidden within. And then take a part of their bodies in mutual rapture. Sigh. I think I’ll find some ice cream and read a good book. Preferably one written by a smart, rebellious type.

Asshole ♫ Eminem ft Skylar Grey ♫

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