The kind of sex that made you want to figure yourself out. It took heartbreak to get me there. I was a serial situationship girl. I always seemed to get the guys who would talk a good game to get me in bed and do everything to keep me there. Exploiting my love only to make me their love slave. Until I met a new man. A man who thought he had it all figured out just like the last one. A man who believed he was just about to walk through the double doors of my life and own me the same way the others had.
He had a nice swag about himself, educated, physically in shape, and liked to tell lies for sport. The prototype dude I date, yet I was numb to his advances. I still remember him sitting on the couch talking on and on about himself and me dropping to my knees, enveloping him in my jaws, and interrupting his narcissism mid-sentence.
I remember his words turning into groans for help. Most importantly I remember for the first time in a long time feeling empowered. I remember his veins bulging. I remember his voice losing base. I remember him violently throwing me to the floor…and apologizing for his aggression. Yet to his surprise, and my own, I was delighted by his gesture, and so it began. We tacitly agreed to engage in unbridled release. No gullible girl, but a willing participant.
We shared a commitment to fornication. I committed to perfecting my fellatio technique to dangerous levels. I committed to seduction served on a platter; Miles Davis in the background, sexy outfits, and flirtatious chatter.
I committed to exhaustion out of desperation for a rise. And surprisingly I committed to abuse; verbal and physical because to me all of it was sexual. All of it was arousing when taken out of the real world and placed on top of a penis. I thrived in an environment where nothing was gross; all my body flaws on display.
All our mistakes were exposed. It was a carnival that only we had passes to, it was a place we had discovered accidentally; a joy not to be tamed. Until one day… I stayed longer than I should've. What he thought about me was his business.
And who I really am is my business. My sexual candor is what got us here, not my mind. About two break ups ago I would have died for a man to say these things. Entertained that for the first time I had pussy whooped someone into a captain save-a-hoe uniform. And now I was panicking, my power had back fired and now I just wanted to roll out leaving no damage behind. Damn, was this how guys felt when girls pulled out the gushy conversation after great sex? What about opening a salon?
Your hair is always tight Heels clacking down his hallway. Leaving a stain in his mind the same way my past lovers had. I write about things you can relate to and also things that make you want to sit far away from me. Find more of my work at thasamedifference. Subscribe to our newsletter to keep up with The Breakup Queen's latest stories! Email Address We respect your privacy. March story contributors have a chance to win this "Just Breathe" bangle! Unsure about what to write? Tell the story you needed to hear.