A part of me hated that he could read my mind, but another, much larger part, loved it. Like how he knew when to put his hands around my neck and the exact amount of strength that he should squeeze. Or when I wanted him to throw me onto the bed and tell me in no uncertain terms exactly how I was going to pleasure him. And that I was going enjoy every minute of doing so.

He was right, and it was infuriating…

I have always been into sex, and frankly, I don’t really see what the big deal is. Why should we limit our relationships to some arbitrary line in the sand that says, “This is the one person with whom I will share my body with”, and subsequently, “That one person has the only body which I am allowed to embrace.”

Fuck that, and while you’re at it, why not fuck me as well. We both know we will enjoy it…