The fact of the matter is, if you met Charlize Theron
one random night in New York City,
on the humble,
posted up at the bar by herself,
and you sat down and she smiled and you decided you were strong enough to chat her up and she turned and faced you,
interested in your lies and anecdotes,
and she touched your arm and ordered another round and before the night was through, the two of you were singing your favorite show tunes, arm in arm walking down the rainy city street, shining and full… that since you know who she is and what she does for a living, after a night of brain blowing sex, if she left in the middle of the mood and didn’t call you for three days, you wouldn’t mind.
Just getting to be with her in your time line,
for that little bit of existence was actually more than you deserved and you would treasure it forever even if you never heard from her again.
But let’s say, she reached out and let’s say you were free, because why wouldn’t you be? Why wouldn’t you leave whoever you thought you loved high and dry because this ‘maybe’ is worth losing everything, I mean, for heaven’s sake’s is the Charlize Theron! …you wouldn’t go?
And lets say after a few months, after a little familiarity, are you going to tell me that you’d start getting upset if she needed to be on set in the middle of the night for six months in a row or more?
Would you pout when fans wanted to stop her, everywhere, just for photographs?
Would you be dumb enough to envy the men she kissed in movies or the ones trying to talk to her who are actually in her league or would you just be sitting by the phone, like a good puppy, dick in hand, sweat on your brow, waiting for her to call, like she’s used to?
Do you think you could muster up the courage to tell her no and why would you when you know she has no reason on earth to ever come back to you except for the fact that she wanted to?
Would you really start to think when she is on her period and you see her drink too much wine, or belch or cry that you can do better?
Nawl, you’d be the happiest motherfucker on earth, just being able to know that you have kissed her, loved her, danced with her, touched her and no one can take that from you, no matter what she does, no matter when she decides to leave your dumb ass alone.


And baby, you’re no Henry Cavill, yet I doubt very seriously that you will tolerate me treating you like anything other than a god among men.
If I want you, you deserve it.
You’re right, I’m no Charlize Theron, either.
But I will be treated no less than.
If you don’t look at me the same way, and want me as I am just as much, can you even call it love?
Let me do me and you do you right along side me, no pressure, no demands, just a tennis match, love-love.
See you don’t even know her and you respect her and there’s nothing about that NYC scenario that you would object to so I demand the same level of trust, attention and affection or you can keep the rest.


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