This is a fictional story told by Max J. Clayton.

How is it I fall in love with so many women?

I talk to them. Listen to what they’re saying. It’s in conversation that melts my heart with a ring of fire that lights up my chest.

Think about it. I’m an Incubus.  More intelligent than the average bear.  I became a sapiophile so looks can never deceive me. Intelligence is what I find sexy.

A vacuous women is not going to do it. If I can blow in her ear and put a hand around the other ear, and I feel air, fuck that noise.

It doesn’t matter how good she looks, Ron White was right, you can’t fix stupid.

I’ve met some stupid women. I’ve met some stupid men.

Gender isn’t a deciding factor with stupid. 

I’ve met some girls who were age 50 and up.

I’ve met some boys who were age 50 and up.

Gender isn’t the issue.  It’s these fucktards that are so fucking backwards in their thinking.

However, when a women can hold a conversation with me, oh how I fall in love with any women that can hold a conversation with me. 

That doesn’t mean I want to fuck them.

They have to take the sleep test, Satin’s sleep test.

If I sleep with them without even so much as kissing them, and when I wake up “Oh God, she’s still here and real.”

That’s when I put my romantic side to use.

Roses just because, or whatever her favorite flower is.

I’m a chef, not in the classical sense, however, I can make anything she wants.

Poetry. I write poetry about her on occasion.

Being loved by me is something I hear so many women say they want. 

I take care of a women that decides to give herself to me.

Just waiting for one to give herself to me.

Like a gentleman would.