I don’t even listen when he talks, I just stare at the veins in his hands. I have a whole folder in my hidden album of just his forearms. seeing that map on his skin is better than any actual date we’ve been on

I’m addicted to the risk. Her husband thinks she’s at Pilates, but she’s actually in my passenger seat

I only go to my bestie’s house to see her brother. I be just waiting for him to walk by. I stole his gym shirt from the dryer and I sleep in it every night. The scent is a 10/10. If she knew, I’d be cooked, but the delulu is actually keeping me alive

We finally did it. I spent the night on my stomach while she took the lead with the harness. it changed the power dynamic in our bedroom forever. I didn’t lose my masculinity; I just found a new way to be hers.

There is a specific way he goes down on me, slow, clinical, and relentless. He treats my body like a holy text he’s trying to translate. It’s not just the pleasure, it’s the way he worships the parts of me I usually hide. I am a cathedral and he is the only pilgrim allowed inside

Okay, so my solo habits are a bit… extra. I have a whole ritual with candles, a specific playlist, and sometimes I even dress up. It’s the commitment for me.

I’ve realized I only feel truly present when he slaps me. In that moment, the world stops spinning and there is only his hand and my breath