I Write…

..and you, my Face­less friend, read.  Our bizarre lit­tle rela­tion­ship is based upon that sin­gle, immutable rule.

I, Your Writer, write — because for most-assured­ly self­ish rea­sons, I feel the need (no, the com­pul­sion)  to, and I want you to read it. And you, my Face­less Read­er—for rea­sons per­haps best kept to your­self, you won­der­ful­ly kinky dev­il—feel the need to read it. I assume you are in search of some form of enter­tain­ment; and I am obvi­ous­ly writ­ing this in a not-so-thin­ly-veiled attempt to enter­tain you.

Sim­ple, right?

So, here we are.  Around and around we go like awk­ward teens at a par­ty, eye­ing each oth­er up and doing this lit­tle dance until either you get bored read­ing this sense­less bab­ble, or I tire of writ­ing it and the need to enter­tain you gets over­writ­ten by find­ing a snack or watch­ing TV.

Enter­tained yet…?  I hope you are… I know I am. And, thanks for drop­ping by, Face­less… I’m look­ing for­ward to our next dance.

-Your Writer


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