Amirah Sana

EXCEPT from Goddess of the Hunt
You can call me Diana. And if you know anything at all of Greek mythology, you can call me by my Greek equivalent – Artemis. You are the only one I’m telling my name. No one else can ever know who I am when I escape from the confines of my cashmere and silk world and dawn the skins of my true calling that causes me to wield the blade of purpose – whatever that purpose may be. It doesn’t matter as long as it is my purpose. Sometimes purpose is need. Others, it is nothing more than a whim. It can be about experimenting. You know; new ways to perplex the feeble minds that get off on being able to foxtrot on that fine line between legal and illegal in the name of justice and understanding. Last night it was a need to feed my superiority complex. Tonight, I’m just in the mood.
You know the greatest thing about the prey of a great hunter? They don’t know they’re prey until it’s too late to see the hunter coming. Don’t believe me? When a lady is man-hunting – I mean a true artist among the man-flesh connoisseur elite, she bears no weapon until that exact moment of the kill. Until then, her prey sees exactly what she wants him to see; a harmless creature alone. Some would call the minute scrap of clothing she wears whorish. But, oh no. That only exemplifies their lack of knowledge. The huntress knows the “Freak ‘em” dress is essential to the look of vulnerability. As are the rest of her outfit – or do I dare call them ‘utensils of the hunt’ – essential no matter how seemingly small. Still confused? Let me expound. But I warn you. You will learn something.
Imagine if you will; fish nets clinging to shapely tawny legs that are crossed and visible to the thigh. Those legs are hoisted up on a contemporary barstool of the latest party scene and end in the latest in foot gear that scream her intentions. But the prey never suspects. Doesn’t pick up the scent of bloodlust on the wind. You know why? The huntress drowns out everything else with the sound off her pearlescent tongue as it slides across her full lips leaving the glistening footprints of invitation in the gloss. The only sound tantamount to this hypnotizing concerto is the sound of the prey’s unfaithful heart rushing blood to the parts of his body that now hinder his fight-or-flight reflex.