The Female Spy’s Guide to Recruiting

What is a spy? It is a woman, clearly. There are three types of women. An honest daughter, you have seduced your father to fantasy, and he has released you to men. You have failed, and you are a woman on the streets. You have played with a phallus as if a man, you have seduced the first type, into the second, you are a piece of common trash.

But what if you are the first, that seeks to kill the third, so you become the second? You are a spy, a dominatrix. Be it the hand of a knife, the hilt of a sword, or the cool black hard bliss of a semiautomatic pistol, you are a spy. Glory be to you, thief of men and cold hard glass of eye.

There are three types of men, you will deal in. Each of them, is an actor, famous, for they have spotted a part, they resemble, and they remove from it, to become the man. A man’s play, whether in written form of inspiration to history, or in the modern chicanery, television and film.

The fang, is the coincidental consequence, of sex. No man is an evil man, a deviant, unless broken by the evil woman, and taken from the honest daughter, for he becomes the killer of the women of the evening, and their rabble, their children and congregants. This man, the deviant, the evil man, is your prey, but you will not strike them.

That is for your three rings, with the last finger, as your love, the acclaimed man who will not lay with you, for he is a contract killer, the homosexual, your husband. He has taken the actor’s play, and instead of exchanging words as himself with the other, he has postured as a famed figure or role or concept, and placed its enemy, in the target, to slay a deviant. He is the cleaner, the mobster, the man of religion, the proctor, the priest.

First, you have the police officer. He seeks you, and you sense he is a novice. You let him top, fucking, and then you switch when he does not know who he is, he moves back into role. You let him bottom, taking him, placing him in the trap, the bane of the actor, through the character. This is law enforcement.

Second, you have the spy. He seeks you never, he is drawn to you, by male consort, other spies, and you spot him as a kid off the boat, too young for the Navy, but too old to be a man. You let him top you, and when he seeks to be submissive, you allow him force in equality, with the form of the film you have seen, your intuition into another role, giving him the actor in the fantasy in his mind. He has a method intuition of the actor, sought through his starting form, a killer.

Third, you have the executive, the common man. He has always wondered what you are, and he pays a fee, and when you offer yourself as a woman, a proper bottom, his escort to the fair, he refuses, for this is not honorable. You take him, and you introduce him, to the fetish of men, the stroke and kiss, touching him as a vampire, refusing him from the badge or the service, instead teaching him his hand. His actor has disappeared, his character, is now an armor, to wield the souls of men, a politician.

Fourth, is the mobster. He has taken on the role of an acting fob, a man beaten so brutally he has gained violent revenge through the hand of a gay man, a homosexual, a mobster, a contract killer. The faith will bring you there, and you must have a faith, to bring you, to his home, for a conversation. He is your husband, and you must become a king, and posture yourself as the victim, for him to make love. He will have many, but he will be your first, every time.

Last, is your death, the deviant. He is a murderer, and he will kill you, for that hooker on the streets you never killed, the ding-dong ditch, that pouting lipped whore, the strapon woman at the parade, the pagan. You will keep a dagger with you, in your sleep, to submit to her, and make her a lesbian, an old dried witch. For in your blood of death, she will become your first kill, that beauty and witchcraft you once slew a man with, for seeking a woman like her, and she will crumple up, and lurk the streets, an addict, a man in a teenage slut’s body.

And that is you, spy. You are a woman, with a whip, a girlchild in the dark.

Published by cheater120

Consider me an expert in information munitions. I practice Zazen meditation, Yakuza Trappist form (a Yakuza, games cheat, and Trappist, a counter-agent), as a Bonafuda, a mercantile salesmen of information through philosophy, literature, fiction, and academics, distributed as munitions technique deployed for the purpose apparent to you, unless of course you have violated the ethics of my piece, in which case you will be trapped inside a theft of the piece and an action within the boundaries of the violation you have committed in Benedictine culture, the Jewish affiliate within Catholic culture. Buyer beware, and these poems, are free.

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