Rewind eight years, I (22/F – at the time) had gotten my first solo apartment. It had a nice big living room with a backdoor to the porch. It felt like a quiet nature setting, but it was really after a busy highway, just north of the state line. After six months of tip towing around my last roommate, I could finally have sex as often as I wanted. My sex drive was out of control. It was all I thought about when I woke up, was at work, and as soon as I was home I had my toys in me until I passed out.
Often times, I was at work messaging people on Kik. One gentleman (38+?/m) in particular lapped up my sexual appetite and craving for risky sex. We discussed a myriad of fantasies. He didn’t want to keep a relationship just a fantasy. He needed to taste me.
A rare morning when I was working from home, he told me he was going to come over. I politely declined, but he was already driving up from the city. He knew I lived north of the border and told me I needed to tell him which exit to take. I panicked. The needs of my body took over. Exit 1.