You probably won't like me; you may find me degrading. You probably won't like him either; he likes the degraded. My story is like a bloody t-bone ripped violently from the wild boar, now sitting auspiciously by the carnivorous fire: Blunt, raw, and tantalizing. It starts the night I catch his luring needy eyes, and continues to the day I put it all on the line to chase a ridiculous and childish daydream. Though I feel him, hear him, and want him, I can't claw my way deep enough into the web of his psyche to find the subtle secret he holds. And for one simple reason: I don't know who he is.