I really need to hone my powers for good rather than evil, but where would the fun in that be?
I am a... I am...
How do I say this diplomatically?
I am a flirt.
I think you know this about me. You see it in my eyes as they peel the wife beater off of your oh so tanned, sweat beaded chest. I run my mental fingernails down your arms, all knotted and muscled from the manual labor you've been working so hard at (unaware that I've been watching every. stroke. of your hammer and each ropelike tendon as it rippled under your skin) and it gives me a cheap thrill to see your Adam's apple bob as you swallow sharply, realizing that I really AM eye raping you right here in front of God and everybody. And I am not shy about it. I stare at you, daring you to stop me, shivering as I imagine your calloused hands touching me. It would take so little. I let you know this when you look at me with your puppy dog eyes by dropping mine as though I did not want you to catch me looking at you in such an intimate way. You squirm uncomfortably as you realize that you can have me this way, but ONLY this way. One word of acknowledgement, one question verbalized, one physical touch and it all comes to a screeching halt. You don't want that any more than I do, do you? Otherwise, why would you seek me out like this? You want to play my little game. You want me to want you in the way my eyes say that I do. You know that I enjoy toying with you, and that if it was not you it would be someone else. Not because I need to, but because I can.
I am evil.