She wanted it rough. But every guy she’d ever fucked treated her like a princess. She hated that shit. She wanted to be dragged off the sofa, thrown onto the bed, manhandled. She wanted her legs spread. She wanted to get fucked. Enough with the romance. She wanted her mascara to run. She wanted to gag and choke and drool over a cock being slammed down her throat.
And then, she met Erick at the pool. He was in amazing shape. He was tan, had great, thick hair, and a nice body. His smile made her melt. He asked for her number. They texted. They got coffee. And then, they got drinks.
A few days later, she texted him and asked if he was interested in “hanging out.”
He was.
“I’m tryna fuck,” she said with a winky face emoji.
“I know,” Erick wrote back.
“But like … I mean. F-U-C-K. I wanna be sore tomorrow, you know?”
He didn’t.