I'm not a woman of the night. I'm not your toy to play with.
You see me all pretty and assume I am nothing but make-up on my face, ornaments on my hair, fancy clothes on my body. That I'm a frail pretty flower you have the power to either treat well or misstreat, and disposses later. You don't own my body. Yet, you seem not to comprehend that.
If is true that what I do involves entertaining you, I'm not a doll, and definitely not yours.
I don't want your body, your sex, your superiour thinking.
I'm more than what you see. If only you could see...beyond your savage, primitive instincts.
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