Secrets

Even here, we dance around the truth. A fetish checklist veiled by what is socially appropriate within a narrowly defined slice of a subsociety. (Ha. Subsociety.)

Should I tell all my secrets?

The truth is, I'm pliable enough to bend to the easy or hard of whomever chooses me/I choose.

Those things that I hold tight in my dirty taboo-driven fantasies, if they never see the light of day, does it matter?

If I'm never forcibly held into someone's cunt and made to pleasure her, I'll live. If I'm never made to watch you fuck her and not look away, everything will be fine. If you don't ever feel the need to brand your name onto my hip, it doesn't make me any less yours. If you don't want to give my pussy or ass or mouth to your friends as a lesson in subjugation, well, I guess I will learn it another way. If the thought of making me dependent on your approval for any pleasure doesn't make you happy, I suppose I can keep buying AA batteries.

And yes, that's the truth. The pretty truth. But the ugly truth is that I want all of that, and much much more. Only it's not about what I want, is it?