He talked numbers like it was sport. I wanted tea and a hand on my back. Performance reviews do not belong in my bed. Ever.
Tag: intimacy
I want the sentence you would actually say. Not a script you borrowed. Awkward and filthy beats cinematic and fake. I hear the difference immediately.
Vulnerability is treated like an ick now. I joke instead. Then I want to say it in daylight and my mouth does that stupid freeze.
No name talk. No job talk. No story about the week. Just a dark room and a warm body that does not need a biography.
The chase was fun. Then I texted first in daylight and the spark died. Some men only want the me that leaves at dawn anyway.
I do not compete with a lock screen. Eyes on me. Hands on me. If you can scroll you are not as into this, mouth.
I can spot a bad idea in a nice coat. I still say yes. Chemistry feels like proof. It is usually just familiar old trouble.
Not romantic on paper. Still adult. A man who can say the word clinic without crumbling is doing more than the ones who just hope.
I like being asked. I like it more when you pay attention after. Consent is not paperwork. It is you noticing I am still here.
How many. How often. Who it was. That is not public property. Curiosity dressed as concern still wants a full guided tour of my sheets.