Fragile Heart

That is not how one conducts herself, silently boiling to himself muttering, he watched her shameless display to an audience of lecherous men. Careless and licentious she was to use her body quite that openly and entice with vulgar sensuality, whispered the voice in his head. Unable to stand the sight of her, the image she wantonly played, certain he could not be a captive, he focused on his drink instead. Nursing his beer in a far corner, losing track of the ticking clock, from his thoughts he awakened to a whiff of her feminine scent. She sat by his table just like that, uncaring if she's welcome or not; it did not matter as she was sure that in a while he would succumb. He should have stood up and left for he was made from sterner grit but his pulse raced out of control and the beast had just taken over. Helpless to those mysterious eyes, the jet-black hair he wanted to touch, his inhibitions he completely forgot along with his long-standing fervor. She played him like a child with a toy just by her guile and a wicked smile; before the long night was finally over in a motel room they used each other. As the harsh light of the morn revealed that he was no different from all the rest, he grappled with the damning question: was the lust worth the stain in his soul?