Sometimes men don’t understand how a woman could lack…confidence.
They don’t know what it’s like to be pretty. And popular. And to have had so, so many boyfriends yet, at the same time, to not understand their own desires. That being pretty was keeping up appearances; popularity was being constantly compared to others. That, sometimes, lots of boyfriends means lots of bad boyfriends.
I had a lot of bad boyfriends. They made me anxious and insecure. They took sex from me and I spent my early twenties believing I was submissive when in truth I was scared and confused. That wasn’t the case anymore, though, because now I had my lovable dork.
A year and a half. That’s how long I’ve been taken care of. I’ve been encouraged. I learned what it felt like to be told I was beautiful instead of hot. I’m cherished and protected, not controlled. And, well, after a year and a half, I learned that I wasn’t submissive because submissive women don’t make him happy.
“I make you happy, don’t I?”
I look down to see the bulging of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and smile with my lips slightly parted. “Yes,” he admits.