Dedication: To Claire, aka Scattia. For having 'given' me this song, and as a welcome for having found her way into the little known world of Smoochy Dreams.
Disclaimer: Song by Ricky Martin. *Shakes head* I can't believe I'm ficcing to a Ricky Martin song.
You walk into a room
You've got killer eyes that hypnotise
You're so dangerous
Oh yeah, you're dangerous
You've got a snaky kind of strut
It's too hot to touch
Can't trust a thing you do or say
Gotta stay away
It was her eyes. Her clear, penetrating, extremely perceptive, blue eyes that first drew me to her. She had walked into the room, glancing only briefly at me. But it was enough. I was… For lack of a better word, I was enslaved.
That had been well over a year ago, and since then she had changed from the sweet, innocent, girl-next-door into an assertive, untrustworthy seductress. From her shy, demure demeanour into the now arrogant, haughty strut. But I can't seem to escape her.
And I really don't know if I want to.
One by one
You've gone from man to man to man
Until your mission is done
Even with what I now know of her, I can't seem to get her out of my mind. Not until she's done with me. Not until her objective has been reached and she has cast me aside for another.
But first, I have to wait my turn.
Jezabel, kiss and tell
You use your body, just to cast your spell
And sell your story
You're just a jezabel, kiss and tell
You ride the headlines like a carousel
Of fame and glory
That's what she has become. That's what she is. She has realised her full potential as a woman, and uses that knowledge to bewitch us lowly, undeserving men. And not only those who are fortunate enough to be physically close to her, but every man who has ever set eyes on her. She uses her wealth, her fame, her power.
She uses herself.
And none of us stand a chance.
I'm going down your windin' road
Around those killer curves
That work my nerves
You're so dangerous
Slippery and dangerous
You've got a camera down your shirt
You've got a slit in your skirt
For your dirty work tonight
Now ain't that right
Ever since that first moment she set her eyes on me, she has yet to leave my thoughts. She's always there. Sometimes a barely registered thought, but most often a glaring mainstay. She refuses to leave, but I'm certain that if ever she decides to go I'm not sure I can let her.
Every time I'm near her, all of me is ignited. It's as if I'm on fire, and all I can sense is her. All I want is her. All I want is my turn. All I want is to be the one that feels her. To be the one that moves her.
All I want is my name on her lips.
Here you come
You've gone from bed, to bed, to bed
And now the damage is done
And finally, I get my chance, my turn. My wildest dream, my deepest desire, my most private fantasy comes to life. She is with me.
One by one
You've gone from man, to man, to man
Until you're mission is done
But rather than satisfying my want, it has increased it. She has become an obsession. She has become a necessity. She has become a need, as essential as oxygen.
And I realise that I was wrong. Her mission was never to have any man she wants, when she wants. It was to have every man want her.
It was all about…her.