The Reunion

I’ll never forget that moment, meeting him in the lobby that day, when I turned and locked eyes with his. He was exactly the way I remembered him, a tall domineering presence walking towards me. I knew instantly I was in trouble and thought to myself, oh fuck, here we go again…

Sitting next to each other in a little corner coffee shop, he was abnormally close, the sides of our bodies touching and it was hard not to notice how he was pushing his leg up tight against mine. It was freezing that day and he took my hands to warm them in his, catching me off guard with his forwardness.

I commented that it was good to see him again and he replied in kind. I couldn’t help but stare at his face in stints that were far longer than what are socially acceptable. I was reconnecting with it, my eyes tracing its contour, noticing his strong jaw line, the overnight regrowth that’d started to appear and instantly wanting to cup my hand around it and put my face next to his. He felt it, uttering something about how he could feel my eyes burning into him, jolting me out of my daydream state, somewhat embarrassed.

Shortly after, he smiled and said simply, “come here” and wrapped his big arms around me as I nuzzled in tight. My heart was racing, but it didn’t stop me noticing how completely natural it felt to be locked in that warm, reacquainting embrace, which we stayed in for more than a few minutes. It’d been eight years since we’d last seen each other, yet it quickly became clear that despite the amount of living we’d both done in that time, the different paths we’d followed, the distance that separated us – nothing much had really changed between us. It felt like a day hadn’t gone by since I was last in his hold (or his bed). Our connection was definitely still there, perhaps it’d even intensified? It was confronting, powerful and seemed uncontrollable. I was once again on this crazy ride. MB and SG reunited. It was fraught with peril and we both knew it.

Returning to his hotel, the atmosphere was charged and I was already beginning to feel the carnal vibe of his demeanour. Walking into that room, knowing we were finally alone, I wondered how this was going to play out. I wanted him, but I was scared to get close, knowing our situations were beyond complicated. Yet something was still driving me. I could’ve left, but instead I stayed, knowing that whatever was to come, it was about to get interesting.

I took my jacket off and he instantly turned and asked, “I thought you were cold?” I joked that he needn’t worry, since I wouldn’t be taking anything else off. Without thinking, I was already walking over to the bed where I sat down, kicked off my shoes and pulled a blanket over me to keep warm. Immediately, he was right there, sitting by my side.

I lifted the blanket up to invite him in, smirking cheekily. He smiled back and snuggled in underneath. All these acts – taking my jacket off, moving to the bed, welcoming him in under the blanket – they were almost out-of-body. I would mentally kick myself in the moments after thinking, what the hell are you doing?, remembering how he brings this side out in me, how the usually reserved ‘me’ was instantly showing that forward, sexually assertive behaviour around him – again. And whether it was conscious or sub-conscious, a part of me knew exactly what I was doing.

A few minutes passed by as we sat under the blanket together. Even without touching, the chemistry between us was electric. He turned towards me and I instantly recognised that puckish expression he sometimes has, beginning to creep over his face. He said those words again, “come here”, and opened his arms, inviting me to lay with him. I didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t exactly sure whether he intended for me to face away from him, so we could spoon, but I somehow found myself suddenly facing directly into him. Fully clothed, our bodies fitting together perfectly, we held each other as tightly as we could. I was hit with a striking contrast of feelings – in a way, he felt new to me, as of course he was not my usual lover – yet he was so very, very familiar. It was conflicting, but I couldn’t help but immerse myself in him – his body, his skin, his scent. I’d been aching for this and here it was. I felt alive again.

Holding me close, his hand made its way to my lower back and underneath my top, it was cold, making me wince forwards, pushing into him. He reacted by pulling me even closer, drawing my body up tight against his. His mouth hovered over my neck and I could feel his warm, moist breath on me. Then came the brush of his lips – those lips – the lips I can never take my eyes off – the first thing I ever noticed about him. Then he moved his hand up to my neck and pulled my scarf down hard and started to softly kiss the base of my neck, causing my pulse and breath to quicken.

His mouth continued exploring, moving up towards my face, inching closer to my mouth – almost searching for it, and every time he came close, I would turn away so our lips wouldn’t meet. He was unrelenting, kissing me all over my face, everywhere except my lips, his face all over mine, his beard stubble brushing against my skin. I could feel myself beginning to shake from what was nothing other than pure, unadulterated lust.

My senses were alive with everything that was just, well, him. I was losing my fight against an uncontrollable urge to meet his mouth with mine and just let myself go. I whimpered into his ear, “don’t kiss me”, causing him to pull away from me slightly and hold my stare, giving me that stern, savage look of his – the one that makes me crumble. He took a handful of my hair and firmly pulled my head back, exposing my neck, making me feel even more vulnerable than I already did. Enjoying my defenselessness, he moved in to devour my neck, taking what we both deep down know is rightfully his. I was quite literally dying inside. Dying because I wanted him beyond belief, to allow myself to succumb to this insane attraction I have towards him, to be his again, just like I used to be and yet I just couldn’t, because, I just ‘shouldn’t’.

With absolute finesse, he gently guided me down onto my back, cradling me in his arms as I clung to him tightly, us both holding onto that closeness between our bodies. The feeling of his weight on me was so recognisable, as was the feeling of togetherness, nothing had changed. In that moment, everything was exactly the way it used to be.

He pulled all his signature moves, reminding me in every moment what it was like to be with him all those years ago (not that I’d ever really forgotten) – throwing me around on the bed; a perfect balance of rough to smooth, swiftly and easily manoeuvring me into all sorts of positions like I was nothing more than a doll – yet it was all seamless and I knew he had me controlled the whole time. That’s him, and my body knew it. It hadn’t forgotten. Each time he did something, I would catch myself with an ‘oh, yes, that’s right’ thought, taking me straight back to what it was like in our early days of uncomplicated, mind-blowing sex.

He sat upright and placed his legs either side of mine, restraining me with his weight and the grip from his thighs, and as I laid there on the bed looking up at him, we both knew who was in charge. Then, without any hesitation, he slowly lifted up my top, revealing my tummy and leant down to kiss and mouth my bare skin, making me quiver with anticipation at what he was about to do next. As he started to move lower, I placed my hands around his head, feeling his hair between my fingers. He kissed every part of me along the way and each time his mouth touched me, I would naturally push my hips up towards him, telling him how much I wanted him without saying a word. Moving further down, I watched his masculine face finally arrive in-between my legs, his mouth pushing through my micro-thin trousers, greedily biting down onto me, gently groaning into my pussy and lifting his head up to look at me through those deep set eyes, begging me to let him make me cum….fuck…!

I was beginning to lose myself, he was taking me to a place he describes as ‘elsewhere’ – that place where I’ve lost all inhibition, control and conscious thought – where I’m completely overcome by the intensity of what’s happening to my body – aware of absolutely nothing other than him taking me closer and closer towards what is bound to be an almighty, thunderous orgasm.

There’d been an intense build-up during the months prior to us meeting, despite us both trying to suppress and deny what was happening. I told myself before we met over and over again, there was no way I could let myself go there with him, as much as I suspected I might want to when I saw him again, I knew it wasn’t the right time. Yet I’d been craving him for so long, how could I stop what felt so unbelievably intrinsic to me? I wanted him and he wanted me, but I couldn’t let us take that step when our lives were still anything other than straightforward. Nevertheless, there was no doubt in my mind about how much I desired him – it was more than ever before, which astounded me. The chemistry, quite frankly, was out of this world.

After using his face, his lips and even his teeth to toy with my now-aching pussy, he came back up from between my legs and put the full weight of his body on mine, sinking me into the bed. With only our clothing separating us, imagining him fucking me wasn’t hard to do, feeling his rock hard cock pushing up eagerly into my thigh. My mind was simply begging for him, yearning to feel him inside me. He was squeezing me as tightly as he could, compressing me so hard it made it close to impossible to breathe, his hands exploring every inch of me, pulling me into him whilst driving his hardness into my pussy in a way that made me feel might actually split his jeans. I could feel myself going limp as I started to give in, I was starting to pant during the short breaths I could take as he’d occasionally loosen his grip on me, I was beginning to tremble, it was all coming back to me, he was coming back to me – a reawakening, a familiarity like no other.

As we rolled around on the bed, I was falling apart. Laying beneath him, he lifted my leg up from behind my knee and pressed it back towards my hip, pushing me down hard, exposing me and thrusting into me, pinning me down with his throbbing cock. I’d catch myself making slight moans of rapture, realising after each sound that I’d let it out and would tell myself to stop. I was trying to hold them in, but I simply couldn’t – my desire for him was, to put it simply – animalistic.

Before I knew it, he’d effortlessly placed me on top of him. He was leant back against the headboard with me perched on him, straddling him, my legs out wide over his waist. Instinctively, I began thrusting into him; I was succumbing to the inevitable and let my head come down to his, our lips finally meeting, realising how much i’d missed them.

He asked me if I was wet and I of course knew the answer – as after all, I’ve never known my own wetness like I do when I’m with him, but playfully I told him I didn’t know. So, with a devilish glint in his eye he asked if he could check. This question he asked me – it suddenly took my mind back to the last time we were together all those years ago. We were walking down the street late at night, the tension had been brewing all evening as we’d enjoyed a few drinks, but we’d managed to be ‘good’, until that stage. Out of the blue, I said I felt like I was wet and his ears pricked up, wanting to know more. I invited him to find out for himself, which he did without a second guess. Standing there in the street, I turned to face him and he slid his hand inside my skirt, up my inner thigh and inside my undies. I was drenched and he couldn’t believe it, his jaw slightly dropping before we moved in close and into that long-awaited kiss. He hadn’t even touched me up until that point, he hadn’t needed to…

And here I was again, with that strong sense of déjà vu. I was so torn, no matter how much I wanted to let him touch me and let him once again discover my wetness himself, I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do and so, to my own disbelief, I said no. He reacted by telling me to check myself. I followed his command and slid my hand inside my underwear to meet my soft, shaven pussy and lightly stroked myself just a little as he watched. And just like I was on the street that night (and every-single-time with him), I was utterly soaked. As I lifted my hand out, he grabbed my wrist and pulled it towards his mouth. I tried to resist, attempting to pull back my arm, but he forced it forwards, tasting me as he stared wickedly into my eyes, giving me nowhere to hide. My heart was racing, as I was beginning to realise there was no going back.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand this spell he has over me. After eight years apart, it didn’t take longer than 10 minutes of us being alone in a room together to be dry fucking like a pair of horny teenagers. It was wild. In fact, I’m pretty sure the last time I felt such an out-of-control attraction was when we first met more than 12 years ago. This thing I have with him, it doesn’t fade with time, if anything, it only gets stronger.

I guess you could say we were saved by the bell, because just at the point of no return, his ride to the airport arrived. I was a hot mess, but I was ‘safe’, well, at least until next time, something we both knew was on the cards again soon. Even before we’d said our goodbyes, I was already wondering whether I should risk seeing him again, only I wasn’t going to have eight years to think about it this time – I had a mere two weeks before he was back in town. I was scared of what was to come, at the same time I was already longing for more. Holy fuck, something dangerous had well and truly begun.

So there was more to our story and this was a whole new chapter – one I’d thought about many times over the years, despite my best efforts to block out – to block him out. Yet there was always something that niggled away at me about him and no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite forget him.

I didn’t know where this was heading, but after what just happened – the heights he managed to take me to without even so much as taking my clothes off – I know now that I can never escape him.

This is not the end.


Leaving SG

The past decade has seen me spend many hours pondering the same thought – am I glad I experienced just a hint, a taste of him? – Or would I have been happier overall to have had nothing at all? Was he a curse over my life, or some kind of twisted blessing in disguise?

There’s no doubt my heart broke the day I left him.

As the car veered sharply from the road as it swerved to miss a Western Grey, I remember feeling under whelmed by the close encounter, only slightly raising my eyebrows to a thought of: ‘life: go fuck yourself’.

Reflecting on the incident, it was closer than a near-miss, but the heartache I was feeling was far worse than anything physical that could have happened to me at that point in my life.

The following morning I was woken from my semi-like sleep to the message alert tone on my phone. It read:

“I’m sad you left that way.

I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

The following day I left the country, devastated.

Had I just met and lost him?

Still so overwhelmed how I could be so affected by one person, I spent the next couple of months travelling South-East Asia pretending he meant nothing to me.

I was lying.

Ten years later, I’m still lying.

The Tormented Soul

Imagine, if when we first started (and I mean before we even first had a serious relationship in life) we could choose either of the these paths:

1) A life filled with content and humble love, consistency, a partnership with somebody who understood you, related to you – a partner who would always be there for you no matter what, your best friend – somebody who will love you MORE than you love them.


2) A life filled with passion and excitement and but ultimately – gut-wrenching heartache? Insane, unexplainable attraction – a love that makes you behave in a way you’ve never known yourself before (a way you’re not always proud of), a feeling of being out of control by the unimaginable feelings you have for this person. The thought of dying in this person’s arms fills you with euphoria. And yet, on the side there’s a hearty serve of incomprehensible sorrow, pain so deep you never knew you could hurt so much – feeling so alive at the same time as wishing you were dead. Somebody you can NEVER shake off, no matter what you do – no matter how far you distance yourself. Somebody you will always love MORE than they love you.

I know the path I’d choose if I could – I’d choose number one, every time. I’d choose it again and again and again.

Trouble is, number two is the drug of a tormented soul – which I have.

Some may say I’m a ‘free spirit’, I say I’m haunted.

Nice Profile Picture: Cunt.

I met him at the airport, queuing behind him as I waited to pay for my duty-free. When the cashier asked him which flight he’d be returning on to collect his alcohol he replied, ‘tomorrow’s flight’. Given we were in the international terminal, My ears cropped up and I couldn’t help questioning the stranger in front of me, ‘you’re going overseas for one night?’ He laughed, ‘yeah, just for business’. ‘What are you? A drug mule?’ I found myself interrogating. He looked surprised at my forwardness (as was I) and laughed at me even more.

I observed him as he grabbed a couple of 250ml whiskey bottles and said, ‘for the plane’ to the cashier and gave me a wink. ‘Good idea’ I said and followed his lead.

In the departure lounge I decided to have a drink while I waited to board. As I purchased my lemonade as a mixer, I realised I had nothing to pour the two into. So, when the barista working at the coffee shop wasn’t looking, I ever-so discreetly leaned over and grabbed an empty coffee cup.

I sat down and almost instantly, he was standing beside me. I looked up and he was smiling down at me chatting, then asking if he could sit with me. I didn’t resist and welcomed him to my table. I noticed that he himself had some empty expresso cups to pour his drink into. We hit it off right away, he was charming, charismatic, witty and I could tell he’d be a crowd-pleaser. The more we talked I learned of his colourful career studying science, working as a tour-guide, a flight attendant (underlining the ‘non-gay’ type), a writer for a travel magazine and now a business development manager. He’d also lived and worked all over the world, he was beginning to seem appealing to me. What’s more, he brought something out in me that i’d been missing for  a long time – I became aware of how i’d swiftly reverted to my self-assured, witty, former self – the person I was before that cock-sucking, emotionally retarded, failure of all things – Square Jaw, came into my life. Maybe my impromptu trip to chill out on my own overseas was going to take an unexpected turn?

As we heard the final call for our flight I said, ‘typical, now i’ve found someone to talk to, i’ll have to go and sit next to somebody else on the plane.’ He replied ‘no, we’ll just wait until everybody has boarded and then we’ll get on last – see where the spare seats are and sit together.’ Okay, he seemed keen : )

Being the ‘last’ to board, we assumed our plan had worked and managed to find seats together. We were wrong – people continued to board the plane (seemingly from nowhere) and we were forced from one set of seats to another. Finally, we managed to find two seats together at the back of the plane and settled down as we began to taxi to the runway.

For somebody who doesn’t enjoy flying, I barely noticed as the plane lifted from the tarmac. As corny as it sounds, we had an undeniable connection. I could barely remember the last time I laughed so much or the last time life seemed so easy. It was clear he was attracted to me, saying accidentally (on purpose?) lines such as ‘well of course you would look good in a bikini – oh, not that I have imagined you in a bikini! as his hands gesticulated the shape of a woman. Okay then!

There was no space for silence in our conversation, we had too much to talk about. He discovered I was staying on the other side of the island to him and as the plane began its descent, his attempts to persuade me to stay with him (and the friends he was meeting) became more frequent and more desperately enthusiastic. Part of me thought, why not? You are young, single and can do whatever the hell you like! Then, the other voice crept in – you’re depressed and broken, go and sleep in a nice hotel – you DON’T even fancy this guy – he definitely does not have the normal tall, heavy look that does it for you…

As we approached immigration, we tried every bull-shit story possible to try and skip the massive queue ahead. He reminded me very much of me, somebody who will bend the rules and doesn’t generally care too much about what others think – life should be fun and full of surprises after all. Right?

Meeting his friends really put me off, they weren’t my cup of tea. There was ‘Tit’ from Estonia, a skanky old Australian mole and the only one I liked was the other guy (he had a full beard so he’d already struck a chord with me). I didn’t feel extremely welcomed by his friends and so told him I was going to head my own way, as planned. Physically, he would not let me – dragging me along with him and his friends, telling them how ‘cool’ I was. I didn’t enjoy this and halted him, informing I had no need to be accepted by these people which I had never met and that I was doing this trip solo and didn’t need ‘to belong’ to anything…

Before I knew it, we were all driving away from the airport (in the opposite direction to where I was staying). To cut out the fluff, we ended up back at the place he and his friends were staying and the girls buggered off – leaving me, him and his male friend together. We drank a lot (of course) and after his friend left he became even more touchy-feely with me. More than anything, I just felt sad – sad that the person I really wanted to be with is an absolute cunt of a thing and here I had this great guy in front of me, who thought I was absolutely incredible and I didn’t feel anything for him in return.

Staring deep into my eyes, he admitted that he’d liked me as soon as we chatted in the Duty Free area but that seeing me lean over the counter and grab an empty coffee cup for my booze – said that confirmed it for him and there was no way he could let me ‘slip away’ (I had thought i’d been discreet, but anyway…). I felt like I was looking at him through sad eyes, wishing I could move on from my aching past. He touched me when we talked, hand on my leg, brushing the side of my arm – any woman would recognise these signs.

Lightly stroking the top of my foot, he looked at me and leaned in, forcing me to say, ‘I’m not going there with you tonight.’ He didn’t know what to say, I said ‘sorry, but I’m just not ready for something right now.’ He laid down on the bed and told me to ‘come here’. I did and snuggled into him. He cradled me and we spoke for hours, about life, love and searched for the answers to life itself. All the time, he stroked my body and I lay there, limp – just allowing him, mourning for my real love. He spoke about how he thought I was incredibly beautiful, smart and funny. He told me all the things women want to hear – about how it’s been a long time since he’s met somebody who ‘had their shit together’. In the dark, it brought tears to my eyes and I told him maybe I wasn’t what I seemed. He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my face, telling me that in all his years of living (he was 42) there were few people he’d met like me – not many who would just book a flight to leave the country only a few hours before it was due to depart (and on their own). I’ve always been that way, it’s second nature – but him, seeing me as this pillar of strength made me question why I was so depressed. I knew the answer and I knew he couldn’t fix it.

All night, he rubbed my back, stroked my hair and kissed my neck – spooning me, trying not to poke my ass with his cock. I was scared to turn around in case our lips met, knowing there would be no turning back. I didn’t want him.

Morning arrived and he invited me to come to the beach for a surf, I declined. He said, ‘look me up or call me at work when you get home and we’ll catch up’, giving me a hug. I spent the next day questioning my own shallowness – he has everything – success, culture, drive, fire and he thinks i’m the best thing since sliced bread – so why the fuck don’t you fancy him? I knew the answer.

A day or so later I decided to look him up on facebook and maybe i’d message him? I thought i’d give him a go, see if the chemistry would come over time. As I searched his name thinking it wouldn’t be too hard to find him given he lived in my hometown, I was struggling to see a thumbnail image which I thought would resemble him. I looked further, clicking on the top few pictures which had the same name as him. It didn’t take me long to register the resemblance in the second picture from the top – there was no doubt it was him, lord knows I’d spent enough hours looking at his face. To say I was gobsmacked would be the understatement of the century. He wasn’t alone in his profile picture – in fact he appeared to have plenty of company in his family selfie. From the three people in the picture, I guessed the one in the middle was probably around six months old.

My heart pounded heavily in my chest and I reacted in an instant, not even allowing myself to catch my breath. My message stated simply, ‘Nice profile picture: Cunt.’

Craving Something Bad

Each day is laced with thoughts of you, the way your warm face feels in my hands and the way I feel laying in bed next to you.

I’ve never felt this way before, in the sense that I feel like I am yours, fully – forever.

Intimately, I think of only you – about serving you and pleasing you. How can it be wrong between us when it all feels so much more than just ‘right’?

When I’m awake I think constantly of you and I have to actively stop myself from talking about you. You’re the last thought to step through my mind as I fall asleep and the first when I wake; and in-between I dream of you. Thoughts of you suffocate me in a way I’ve never known.

I know I’ll never stop loving you.

‘While you were Sleeping’

She stirred as he entered the sheets, hearing him whisper something quietly towards her, “I love you…..”

Had she heard correctly? she thought, hovering in that place somewhere between asleep and awake.

“What did you say?” she asked quietly.

“I love you” she heard him say again.

“What did you say?” she repeated.

“I love you.”

She relished his recurring words, thinking about how she’d never tire of hearing him speak from his heart.

Sighing peacefully with such content, she murmured, “I love you too baby” as she rolled over and nested into the safe area between his arm and chest and drifted easily into her sleep.

Morning came and she instantly recalled the memory, wondering – had it been a dream?

With her eyes still closed she said, “Did you come to bed last night and tell me you love me? Or did I dream it?”

She could tell he was half-smiling from the tone of his voice when he replied, “Yeah, I did.”

She nuzzled into him and wrapped her arm around his hard, wide body. He cupped her affectionately with his left arm, pulling her intimately close to him. Resting her head on his chest she knew more than she’d ever know known before, she loved him.

Minutes passed as she thought of nothing but him. She uttered simply, “I love you too baby”.

I think I have a Girl Crush

It was my first day back at work after returning from an overseas rendezvous with Square Jaw (‘start of something hot‘ guy). I was due to attend an after-work event that evening and quite frankly, the thought of it made me want to stab myself in the eye with a fork; but there was no escaping – I had to attend.

I first noticed Nadine after I heard the words ‘Mother-fucker!’ spoken loud and clear behind me. I turned around swiftly to see a tall brunette wearing a figure-hugging burgundy dress, stood with her hands on her hips, slightly snarling across the room.

She catches my eye as she realises I’ve heard her – I smile coyly at her, almost somewhat embarrassed.

“I wonder if it hurts his back to kiss his own ass like that?” she says.

Not knowing whether to laugh my ass off or pretend I was offended (yeah right, this girl had my attention!) I smile shyly, looking up at her.

“You look like you’re up for a laugh, see that guy over there?” she said, nodding towards the alfa-male in the room.

“Uh-hu.” I say.

“He’s a cunt.” She delivers sharply. “No need to explain why, just do what I say and walk over to him.”

Without a second thought, I obey and follow her lead. Hastily she asks my name and when I tell her she smiles at me, softly taking my hand in hers.

And in true Bridget Jones’ style she says, “Meet ‘Blush’, it seems we do have one thing in common at least – as it turns out, redheads are like Kryptonite to me too.”

I’m still unsure who was more shocked – him or I? As I watch him stumble, searching for his jaw on the ground, I feel myself turn a nice shade of crimson as I quickly realise what she’d just implied.

Head held high and lips pouted, she turns on her heel, grabs hold of my arm and walks us away – followed by a light slap to my rear.

Dragging me to the bar she says “Thanks, let me buy you a drink and I can tell you aaaallllll about what a real asshole that pig is.”

Turns out, this guy is her ex and has screwed her around so much that she’s now into women (or so she has just told him! I’m not sure how much of that is the truth?), then adds how it hasn’t really made that big a difference, considering his dick was the size of a peanut. Sooooo, she’s a spunk AND witty – if only I could meet a guy like her! It also turns out, the woman he dicked was a redhead. Ahhhh! Now I understand.

We chatted and had one too many drinks for a work night. The hot topic was very much about what assholes men are and we near the issue with (my) Square Jaw – I mean, don’t get me wrong the sex with him has been the best I’ve ever had in my life – ever and yet I just know there’s something missing – the mental connection. She related to this on a level I’ve never heard any other (man or woman) do so before, it verged on eerie – almost as though I was talking to a mirror image of, myself.

Time was ticking and I needed to leave. We swapped numbers and agreed we had to meet again. I left, wondering – do I have a mini crush?

Today I received a message from her: ‘Hey ‘Blush’, free for a knees up this weekend? We can talk about what cunts men are….”

Strangely, reading her message gave me butterflies – the type I’ve only had when I have a crush. Does this mean I’m into chicks now? Or just this particular one?

I’m not sure where this is going, but quite frankly, all I can think about is bedding her.