Unicorn Hunted

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Hunter Poetry

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It starts with a witty chat-up line, but one crafted solely for her
I scan her Tinder bio
It says she's a writer that she likes blue cheese, scotch whiskey and dabbling in poetry
I make a lame Robert Burns joke hoping that she gets the reference
She does, she sends the emoji with her eyes and says I'm like a breath of fresh air in a miasma of dating app despair

We chat for hours about all the things you're meant to avoid in the early stages of interaction
Day one about religion, politics and the intricacies of that Oscars incident with Will Smith
Day two about our hopes and dreams and what she plans to do with her degree to make her widowed father proud
We get deeper on day three, exploring the dustiest corners, double penetrating our minds and soul, it was magic
We even exchanged those type of pics
But by day four everything had changed, her seal cracked, the ethanol of her evaporated and reality descends as she
Mentions her boyfriend

My whiskey-loving writer was a unicorn hunter in disguise, part of a predatory couple looking for someone who doesn't quite exist to supplement their relationship
Going beyond polyamory and triads and other variations of ethical non-monogamy
Hunting a mythical creature to shapeshift into their existing dynamic
I'd be expendable, expedient, an experiment expected to be equally attracted to both of them
Only having sex with both parties on demand and exactly the way they liked and if not, I'd be out

Fetishised and dehumanised I'd been solicited to be a guest in someone else's house
Like a feature act but more so a stray cat selectively fed in order to serve their own sense of self
A couple's fantasy fulfilment in a heterosexual playground where my own needs autonomy and desires are tertiary
In top-down hierarchy of them
Trapped in three days of trickery by her who was only ever looking for other women to please him
Like a honey trap, only the violence here is sexually motivated, in a melting pot of perversion

Which I think is what hurts the most as we've almost grown to expect this from them
And by them I mean him, the all too familiar men who hop, skip and jump over boundaries
In an Olympics of dominance, pole
Vaulting over the lines of consent
But it stings a little more when you're hoodwinked by another woman, sexualised by the sorority an devalued by the sisterhood
The exclusive female-only members club in which women like me are still often withstood

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