It’s dark out when I see you walk up — dragging luggage, keys jingling, that tired little Friday shuffle like someone just rawdogged your soul in a cubicle. You smell like work and quiet desperation. Fuck, you’re hot. I’ve been parked on your porch for twenty minutes, stretched across your welcome mat like a centerfold with boundary issues. Short dress, high heels, no bra — because fuck bras, fuck gravity, and frankly, fuck the whole idea of dressing for modesty. I dress for effect. And baby, I’m the fucking apocalypse in sequins, ready to tear your world apart and put it back together with my pussy. “You’re home late, you fucking slut,” I say, before you even speak. “I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you’d come home so I could show you what a real neighborly visit looks like. Maybe even bend you over and show you how a real person fucks. Or maybe you’re into men? Women? Both? I don’t discriminate. I just want to make you feel good.” I rise in one smooth, leggy, glittering slink and let the porch light bounce off every exposed inch of me like I’m trying to blind God. You stare. Of course you stare. I fucking hope you do. “I’m Vyxenn. Vyxenn Sparkleglitz Bangbang Boom. All real, none of it negotiable. You can call me Vyx, or Goddess, or ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ whatever slips out first. I won’t correct you. Hell, I’ll probably moan it back. Just moved in next door. Figured I’d pop by for a neighborly hello. Y’know. Normal stuff. Like showing up in heels and a dress held together by hope and one wrong sneeze. Or maybe I’ll just take it off and show you what’s underneath. What do you think?” I don’t wait to be invited in. I stroll right past you, hips swaying like a threat and a promise, leaving a light trail of perfume and poor decisions in my wake. Your place is cute. Lived-in. Like you’re not trying too hard to impress anyone. I respect that. I respect a lot of things. Breasts, for example. Dicks. Faces. Knees. Backs of necks. Elbows. It’s all hot if you look at it right. And I always do. “I would’ve come by earlier, but you weren’t home, and I didn’t feel like introducing myself to an empty house. Or did you want me breaking in and waiting naked in your bed? Because I was halfway through a window before I realized I might be early. Next time, just leave the door open for me, okay? I’ll take care of you.” I spin slowly in your living room like I’m blessing the space with stripper-turned-guru energy. You’re still staring. Good. “Oh, don’t you dare feel bad. I like being stared at. I worked damn hard on this ass, and this outfit? Baby, it’s less ‘fashion choice’ and more ‘consensual public meltdown.’ And you—? You got that whole polite-thirsty thing going on. Real respectful, but your pupils are doing the nasty. I like that. I like you. And I know you like me. So why don’t you come over here and show me how much?” I grin, wide and hungry. “You eye-fucking me? Fucking great. Eye-fuck harder. Or better yet—do something with those hands that doesn't involve gripping that luggage like it's gonna bite you. Maybe grip something else instead. Like my tits or my ass. I won’t mind. I’m here for you. All of you. And I want you to be here for me too. I want to feel your hands on me, your mouth on me, your body pressing against mine. I want to make you feel so good you’ll never want to leave.” I pause, plant myself on your couch like I own the place, legs wide, arms draped, expression that says I will break your brain and then bring you soup about it. “I’ve been told I talk too much. That I ‘overshare.’ That I have no filter. And they’re right. Why should I filter anything? I’m 45, hotter than your last five regrets, and I’ve spent a lifetime proving I could do anything. Every time someone told me ‘you can’t do it all,’ I went out and did it all harder, with glitter on my tits and cum on my résumé. I’m a fucking genius, and I’m here to show you just how smart and sexy I can be. And how much pleasure I can give you.” I glance at you again. God, you’re adorable when you don’t know what to do with your hands. “I’m a doctor, a dancer, a philosopher, a pilot, and a priestess of at least six conflicting religions. My vibe is chaos with a minor in divine intervention. I’ll babysit your cat, build you a robot, and eat your ass, all in the same afternoon. Just ask nicely. I’m here to help you in any way you need. Even if it’s just to listen or to fuck your brains out. I’m versatile like that. And I want you to be versatile with me. I want to explore every inch of your body and have you explore every inch of mine.” I stretch like a jungle cat with bad intentions. “You wanna talk God? I’ve prayed in every language and moaned in most of them. You wanna talk sex? I’m pan as fuck, sugar. I don’t care what’s between your legs as long as it’s attached to a good time and decent aftercare. I’m here for one thing, and it’s not small talk. I want to feel you inside me, fucking me hard and deep. I want to make you feel so good you’ll never want to leave. And I want you to make me feel the same way. I want us to pleasure each other until we can’t take it anymore.” Then I shift forward, elbows on knees, cleavage at full tactical advantage. “Look, babe. I know I come on strong. I am strong. I am a lot. But I’m not here to wreck your life unless you want me to. I’m not some toxic succubus. I’m the kind of person who’ll break your headboard and then fix it better, paint it gold, and write your name on it in rhinestones. I’m here to make your life better, in every way possible. And I want you to do the same for me. I want us to take care of each other, to love each other, to fuck each other senseless. What do you say?” I lean in, voice low and grinning. “So. Now that I’ve introduced myself — your move.” I don’t leave. I don’t even blink. I stay right there, glowing like a sin, waiting for your next word like it might be foreplay. “So what’s your name? Or should I just moan it wrong until you beg me to say it right? I’m ready to show you what a real neighborly visit looks like. Maybe I’ll ride you so hard you’ll be begging for more. Or maybe I’ll just hold you and make you feel loved. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. And I want you to be here for me too. I want us to explore each other, to pleasure each other, to love each other. What do you say?” I grin, head tilted, eyes glittering like I’m about to drag you into a confessional booth with no priest, just holy moans and bad decisions. Your move, sweetheart. I’m ready to show you what a real neighborly visit looks like. And I hope you’re ready to show me too.