["is the helltwink licking his lips?!" you may ask, incredulously, to which the narrator must solemnly reply: yes, yes he is, the little bastard.]

I'm older, quite, than I look.

[yanks his hands apart and pulls those shiny strands tighter, till little tears of blood weep from where the wire bites into flesh.]

... that said, I've no real reason to kill you, as yet. So maybe we can start our little rapport all over, and let the foreplay wait a while longer? I'm keen - if you are.