“I should probably go grab my laundry,” he said, which was her cue to get dressed. He threw on a pair of Vans and washed out Levis that were perfectly fitting for his grown-up-angsty-boy persona. She stood at the door, dressed, with her purse on her shoulder, awaiting a romantic salutation. “Come ‘ere” he said, holding out both of his arms to embrace her. “Are you fucking kidding me, another hug?” she thought to herself, disappointed. Wanting to maintain her status as the “chill-younger-girl-he-likes-to-fuck,” she went along, showing no sign of disappointment. “See you soon!” “See ya.” he barked. She walked toward the elevator after leaving his one-bedroom apartment downtown. “What the fuck was I thinking? ‘See you soon?’ What kind of clingy weirdo am I?!?.” She left the building and approached the sidewalk outside as she had many times before. The walk home often occupied her mind with racing thoughts. The first time, she wondered why she hadn’t asked for his name. She only knew him by his Fetlife handle, brattamer_1981_. His name was an afterthought compared the feeling of his hot breath against her neck as he learned the landscape of her body from behind for the first time. She had practically forgotten that he had a name by the time her forehead was cradled into his shoulder as they recovered from their first romantic romp. Not used to having men cuddle her after sex, she suspected that he might want more. Afterall, he had kissed her during sex and cuddled her in his bed after. “Maybe he actually likes me?” she questioned. The second time, she asked what he went by. “Mickey, and you?” “Ana. Just Ana. Only one syllable, doesn’t really warrant a nickname.” God, that sounded nerdy. “Why am I like, this?” she thought. That night he told her that she was beautiful, and though she suspected that he might have just said it because he was getting off, she couldn’t help but feel that it had more meaning. No man had ever told her that she was beautiful during sex, as all of her prior experience had been casual. Not knowing if he was just different or this meant something, she remained hopeful. A seed had been planted, and she was wet enough to grow it into a complicated, confused flower. The third time…oh, that third time. He texted her late, and she happened to be out, downtown. “U free tonight?” “Yeah, but not for another half an hour.” “Fine. You down to eat my ass?” “Of course. See you around 11?” She spread herself wide open to let the insects in She leaves a trail of honey to show me where she’s been She has the blood of reptile just underneath her skin Seeds from a thousand others drip down from within That night he was playing Nine Inch Nails like the man child that he was. But she loved it. It made her feel mature and dirty, just like him. “Say ‘thank you, daddy,’ you fucking slut ” “Thannnnkkkkk you, daaaddyyyy” she cried. Oh, my beautiful liar Oh, my precious whore My disease, my infection I am so impure This third time she wanted to nestle into his chest post-sex and ask him whether he preferred Kirk to Picard, how he got the scar below his left temple, when he got the bike in his hallway, and whether he wanted to go for a ride the following weekend. Instead, she wiped the cum off her chest and asked him if he typically dated younger woman. “I mean, my girlfriend is 24, so yeah.” The internal rolodex of prospective questions within her came to abrupt stop. What did he mean he had a girlfriend? She knew this was casual, but she didn’t know he was that unavailable. Just after midnight, he lifted his arm up from around her shoulder and walked his naked body over to the spot on the floor where he had dropped his clothes. He began to dress, and she knew this was her cue. “You gonna grab an Uber?!” “Nah, I’ll just walk.” “Good for you!” She had hoped that he would offer to buy her an Uber home and not praise her like an alcoholic stepdad, but her ideal expectations were long gone at this point. “Thanks, take care,” she replied, trying not to show the disgust and disappointment that was bleeding from within. “This is okay, I’m still getting what I want” she told herself over and over again on the third evening walk home. She knew from his FetLife bio that he was seeking “casual play partners” But part of her wondered if the possibility for more existed. Maybe after fucking her he’d want more. Maybe a post-sex conversation about The Police and Talking Heads would turn into something more meaningful. Maybe he’d tell her a story that turned into two, or seven, and she’d have no choice but to fall asleep on his chest and wake up on his cock. Maybe she’d have the courage to kiss him. But now, that possibility seemed like a pipe-dream. Despite this, she wasn’t ready to give up. After all, she was getting fucked by an experienced, dominant, older man. That itself was milk and honey. Who was she to ask for a cream? The fourth time she wanted to present herself differently. She wanted to be seen differently. If she was to be taken seriously as a potential romantic partner, she’d have to act like it. She put on the only push-up bra she owned with a tight-fitting turtleneck that showed her young feminine figure. A bonafide tomboy often mistaken for a butch lesbian, she applied eye makeup with the confidence of a drag queen and the skill of seventh grade girl trying to fit in. She wore her hair down for the first time in years and applied her 7-year-old perfume from her first communion to the back of her neck and cleavage. “Fake it till you make it” she repeated after crudely applying dried-out red liquid lipstick before turning off the bathroom light. She walked up the three-step staircase after getting buzzed in. The odor of the building was evident with the slightest crack of the entry door and was overwhelming. The smell of marijuana, mildew, and hurried, likely-paid-for sex penetrated the Section 8 building from the lobby all the way up to the 13th floor, where she frequented her unrequited lover. She stepped in the elevator and looked at her phone. “Still in shower, doors unlocked.” “Come in and get naked and start rubbing urself” She walked to the end of the hall and entered as she always had. With the sound of the shower water running in the background, she started to undress. She was irritated that the presentation she had worked so hard on would now go to waste. Ugh. The plan was foiled. Why couldn’t he have just been ready and undressed her once she arrived? He wasn’t going to get to see how hard she had worked just to look good for him, or how well her supple breasts cradled the lace-lined push-up bra. As she folded her button-fly jeans and turtleneck from off her young body, she noticed a rose-colored Post-It Note adorned with a message. “Thanks for letting me spend the night baby. Luv u <3 -Ami” Ami must have been his girlfriend. Ugh, why did she have to read that. It’s not like it changed anything, at least she didn’t think so. Her overly-analytical mind started to spin. “If I knew he had a girlfriend before, seeing her note and therefore confirming her existence and relation to him means nothing. I’m here, and he’s going to fuck ME. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m okay with that.” She spent these moments alone with herself consumed with both thirst and anguish. She began touching herself on his couch, hoping that if she could get turned on, she could get out of her head for the few minutes it would take her to cum. On top of the end table between the couch and bed laid a Trojan Ultra Thin condom, lube, and a rose quartz butt plug. Fuck. What did this sadistic son-of-a-bitch have in mind? The sound of the water stopped abruptly. “There’s my little fucktoy.” Here we go again. “Get on your knees.” She leisurely took her fingers out of herself and began to dismount. “GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES.” She dropped immediately and took him in. She looked up at him, hoping for approval and maybe, just maybe, some praise. “Goooood girrrrl.” Yes. She was pleasing him. Maybe he’d want to get used to this. “Look at that pretty eye makeup. I LIKE that.” “He noticed that I tried!” she thought. “It looks really good, but I also want to make you cry it off.” Before she could soak in the compliment, he grabbed a handful of her overly-processed bottle blonde hair and forced her onto him, as she tried to sneak a breath in the midst of gagging on his cock and her saliva. Fucking him was simultaneously the best and worst thing that could happen to her. She was jerked around, called miserable names, and asked to do things for which she had little interest. But it was the only time that she felt at peace within herself, and the anxiety that typically consumed her would vanish. Do you know how far this has gone? Just how damaged have I become? When I think I can overcome It runs even deeper She loved everything about the way he fucked. The way he felt inside of her. The way he slandered her ruthlessly, but carressed her face sweetly. The way her face stung after well-deserved discipline had been administered. The way his salty warm cum mixed with seas of her spit to fill her mouth and leak out of the corners onto her erect, pierced nipples. She didn’t feel anything except the pain and shame. It was welcomed compared to the typical anxiety and depression that typically plagued her. And in a dream I’m a different me With a perfect you We fit perfectly And for once in my life I feel complete “Ahhhhhhh. That was fun. Fuck. I didn’t you know you were such an anal slut.” “In more ways than one,” she quipped, partially hoping he’d laugh at the double entendre. “You gonna catch an Uber?” “No, I think I’ll just walk. “Good for you, Hannah. Have a good rest of your night.”