I don't know why you think the key to a man's heart is through his crotch, but I'm more than just a scratching post for your vagina. I'd be careful if I were you, you might worm your way up that passage like a Brazillian parasite only to find my heart's cold and black like a moonless winter night on a never ending tundra. It's a landscape that doesn't forgive, doesn't forget and it's certainly wary of any life trying to take root for an extended stay.
My charismatic charm is enough to attract you like a moth to a lightbulb but you'll end up wondering why something so bright for so long can be so cold. I secretly drew your gaze like the moon's gravity affecting the tides, my smirk and wit coming in so strong only to recede...leaving you with the freshly wet beach that's been gently kissed by my presence. I lured you in and it was so easy, you fell in love with the idea of me and tried to be close to me. Each attempt would have a certain degree of failure, our sexual misadventures being the most successful of the failures...leading you to believe that it was the best shot you had at catching the star. You got close, and in the nights of passion your body and mind was burned...singed by a fire you couldn't match, enveloped by a flame you couldn't fathom and a spark you couldn't rekindle. A wic that you couldn't keep lit. Before too long it was just a piece of ice that did nothing but reflect the very fire you brought to it, giving nothing back but the illusion of light...
Cold, calculating, all-business. Three adjectives that describe me to a T, so professional that it's carried over into all spheres of my life. It makes me exceptional with my job, it's cut-to-the-chase with all of my friends, and it's strangled the life out of my romantic partners.

Does success really cost this much?

Was it worth it?

.....yes.