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I saw the Daemon Lover, Mr. Greg, on Instagram today.

He was lying on the grand in Bute Park in Cardiff, bare-chested, with a cute piece of nothing next to him. I felt an odd wave of emotions. On the one hand, I know that I don’t and shouldn’t care; we shared one night of passion and I could tell almost from the earliest moments of our time together that he was going to be trouble. I could tell that he was selfish in every possible way.

It was a night to enjoy his body and then get it out of my system; to embrace the lust for every nuance of feeling and pleasure that it was supposed to bring. It was meant to be a momentary flame that would burn out; that I would let it burn out.

That I wouldn’t lose myself in him.

I think I also knew that there was enough of the alpha in him that he would hold some sort of power over me, at least for a time. I think that he likes to do something like that to his conquests. I think it is somehow related to the reason that his entire Instagram is douche bag gym pictures and videos of him squatting or pressing things.

I have much better men who want to be with me. My options in that dept are very much open.

So why do I feel like I’ve lost something that I didn’t even want anyway? What is it about his twattish non-charisma that draws me to him?

I saw the fake tan pooled around his feet in bed. I saw him pose. I witnessed his silly and selfish behaviour. I was at the receiving end of his rudeness. Am I so messed up that I could possibly be attracted to someone so stupid? Someone so wholesomely bad?

Why am I attracted to these muscle idiots? Well, he’s a GP so I assume he’s not a total idiot, but in terms of social behaviour he certainly swings close.

He isn’t worth the empty air of my thoughts; he isn’t worth the words that I’m devoting to him; he isn’t worth the space he’s currently renting in my mind.

He isn’t worth much of anything. He’s nothing but the daemon lover.

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