*The following is a fictionalized version of real events. All names and identifying details have been changed.*
The moment I met Jen I knew I would never be the same. She was extroverted, fearless, and totally in control. She was the perfect complement to my shy, introverted, and anxious self. She always made me feel the perfect combination of safe and exhilarated. Oh, and she was a slut. My slut. My perfect, sex positive, ultra-feminist, unappologitic, body-cofident slut. She was a raging furnace in a five foot frame with inviting curves and experience to match. She commanded attention wherever she went and was the muse for many soft-bois. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it – not in life, relationships, or sex.
We were in an open relationship and we loved playing together and separately. Hearing all the details of her dates was passion fuel for our intimacy. I enjoyed her enjoyment; her wins were our wins. Now, it’s difficult to describe our physical chemistry to people who didn’t know us, but Jen was always dotting on me. Under her attention, my trademark stoicism was replaced by malleability – willingness, even giddiness, to please her. She was the perfect combination of independence and devotion.