The Art of Devouring a Woman
There are many different kinds of men in this world: Men who buy flowers, men who paint portraits, men who write love letters - each loving in their own way. These methods are all acceptable. However, some men cheat and steal their way into a woman’s heart. Men who weave words laced with sweetness, masking the bitter poison hidden below. You’ll see men who smile at the appropriate time, laugh when required and respond with their own perfectly curated response. A response so well-rehearsed you can almost hear the mechanical whir beneath the words. Men like these smile in their perfectly ironed suits and let you think you’ve finally found the one. These types of men are hunters.
Hunters. They stalk their prey through restaurants, bars and candlelit dinners. The prey, wide-eyed, in awe of the man that sits across from them, wondering how they got so lucky. The best kind of hunter appears vulnerable,threading his lies - how his last relationship ended because she slept with his best-friend. The prey tilts her head, eyes softening with sympathy, wondering who would ever do that to such a perfect man. He leaves little handwritten notes in her pockets for her to find and think of him. He wants her to adore him - and when she does … he’ll devour her. He’ll rip her apart at the very seams. Every little secret she told him in trust is now a tooth in his mouth as he bites into her flesh. This is the moment he waited for. All those hollow compliments and boring dinners have all led to this moment. The shudder of shock, the awkward laugh as though he told a bad joke, the moment of silence before the tears of realisation start to fall. He lives for this.
The hunter lives for dissecting her at the dinner table. The same table they probably first shared pleasantries. The same table they laughed together at embarrassing stories from his childhood - all made up, of course. The same table, he called her beautiful and watched as she shyly tucked her hair behind her ear. It was at this table she learnt to trust him. She had grown comfortable in his presence.
In this comfort, he flourished.
He worshiped her. The dinner table was the altar, she was the sacrifice, he was the god. But for now, he had to convince her she was the God and he was the devoted disciple. She was like wine to him. The longer he waited to inflict his pain, the more intoxicating she grew.
Men like these lurk among us. They sit at bus stops in their perfectly performative outfits. They go to work and smile at their co-workers while thinking about their next feast. They wait in bars, weaving their webs, waiting for their next meal to walk through the door. Men like this are to be avoided - if you have a keen enough eye to spot them. Men like these grow up, have families and live amongst us. You might even call one the “love of your life” - without ever knowing how he dined on so many before you.