Meet one of the people floating around in my head: Dusty Dophane, furniture designer and night lounge denizen. Yes, that is her given name-- she was named by her hopeless romantic of a mother for Dusty Springfield, the singer to whose song she was conceived. But you don't have to say you love her to get under her skirt; in fact that may just get you thrown out at 3 am without shirt, shoes, or satisfaction. She waste no time on its trifles, immediately getting straight to business and coming out with exactly what she wants-- nothing less but maybe a bit more.
Dusty claims that lust, unlike love leaves no trace. She just ***ks'em, loves'em, leaves'em cause she don't ***kin' need'em.But the names of her multitude of lovers have been traced on more than just her sheets:
"Lust is easier. They fall upon you in the night and in the morning you can just dust them off without a trace. No chip in the enamel, no scratch on the wood. It doesn't stick and cover your whole being like the polish of love. Love takes time. Like lust, it coats you-- but slowly and in layers, each fixing its self upon you until you begin to shine with it. And there's no way to get it off without doing damage to yourself if you no longer want it. And when you do want and keep it, it wears away anyway. Love's glow is high-maintenance, and those who really, really want it spend all to keep it shiny. Others let it fall away chip by chip, scratch by scratch and ultimately surrender to time. Time wears love down, sanding it away and making it a dirty, dusty experience. This is why I prefer lust; love-- at least one of the parties involved, usually fall into it anyway so why waste my time?"
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| If you look into her skirt, you can see Dusty's Lust List |
Besos. Unless you're Dusty. She'd rather screw than kiss you.
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