I’m listening.

I see the way, the obvious choice, I cannot ignore it.

I listen to his words, keenly and intently, like my wings are pinned to a wax board.

I believe him when he shows in a dozen different selfish, crushing ways that he cannot show up for me – even a little, even for a moment – to prolong the magic of our meeting.

I know he’s spent what little energy he has on me already and now it’s gone. Poof. Down a vodka on the rocks and the 18th hole.

You know what’s also gone? My lady boner. She has died – may she rest in peace. It was fun while it lasted, but I need a break and my wings need repair.

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A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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