theme of "the swindle"

I’m not a whore, but I love a lot of women. Three months ago I met the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I never spoke to her.

Before that this little snowball of a girl, all freckles and prickles. I twisted that rubix cube from all solid colours to a shit mix.

But each one was practice for this one girl. All others could slip through, as long as I gripped just right on this one. I knew her online for a decade before we met.

Having known her a month I told her I loved her. For a decade it’s been like that. She was all the missing pieces of these different girls. This was going to be good.

I told her I loved her. We kissed immediately. For the first two weeks my eyes were closed. End of week three I was looking around. I couldn’t make my self grip.

I told myself I’d not gone for sex. Now I’m sitting at home alone, thinking about all the girls I want to sleep with because I am a whore.