I don't think C gets enough credit. Sure, C doesn't love you. C isn't about love - C is about thrills. C hangs around in the bad part of town. C knows all the gang signs. C has a motorcycle, and wears the leathers everywhere, and never wears a helmet, because that would mess up C's punked-out hair. C likes to give cops the finger and grin and speed away. Mention that you'd like something, and C will pretend to ignore you; the next day, C will bring you one, no questions asked, and toss it to you with a you-know-you-want-me smirk that makes your heart race. Where did C get it? "It fell off a truck," C says, putting away the bolt-cutters. You start to feel like C doesn't know the meaning of "private" or "protected": what C wants, C takes. This excites you. C knows how to get you anything but safety. C will give you anything but commitment
In the end, you'll leave C, not because you want something better, but because you can't handle the intensity. C says "I'm gonna live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse," but you know that C can never die, not so long as C is still the fastest thing on the road.
Yes, from a 4chan board. Really.
Why do I personally like C? Partly it's Baby Duck Syndrome - C was my first real language (Apple Basic doesn't count). Partly it's that I've always been a low-level guy, who likes assembler and enjoys knowing how things work behind the curtain. Being essentially a portable assembler with a veneer of high-level language applied, C appeals to me in the same way sportbikes do. You're close to the metal, but not so close you're getting burned. You're just close enough to the machine to enjoy it, but the rough edges have been mostly rounded to where it's mostly comfortable. High power, but reasonable comfort.