I smell like sex when I leave you, a low musky scent, and if I can smell my own wetness, I have to think I am walking around with pheromones bleeding out of my pores, floating around me like big neon signs that flash ‘in heat, come and get me’. I feel like I have a hunger written on my face, and every man I see looks like prey, and they know they do and either return my gaze with a question or quickly avert their eyes.

And I am thinking about you as I eye off other men, my head swimming with images of you, cut and bleeding on your knees, covered in bruises, hard and wanting more, looking up at me and whispering ‘please pleaseplease’, and I want to give you more, I want you to take more and I want you to fall from your knees onto the floor with it, until your ‘please’ turns into ‘please no’, until I hear desperation and struggle and an edge of panic. And I know you will give me that, I know you will offer me your obliteration.

You'll offer me everything, won't you baby?
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