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[Blog] But Sometimes I Need to be Ravished

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Any conversation he attempts to make with me is drowned out by the sounds of my own thoughts, which are always elsewhere. The small talk is pointless anyways. Liam knows that I’m not here for love. Because if I were, it certainly wouldn’t be here and with him. He can only seem to handle me sexually. When it comes to emotion , conversation and affection, he’s lost and I’m bored.

But I was hurt by the harsh realization that this is going nowhere fast with the one I actually want. I can’t compete with the women who are actually in his presence during our distance and honestly, I’m not sure I’d be able to even if he were near. He once told me about the reaction he seeks from the people around him when he appears with a girl. ‘Damn, what you ‘bout to do with THAT?’ He needs a trophy; not a free thinker. As most basketball players do. A woman with a price tag on her, consumed by superficiality, not someone too invested in a book to wash her hair. He shames me for the few things I find attractive about myself, my intensity, my passion, my tenderness with words like ‘too sensitive’, ‘too dramatic’, ‘too emotional’.

I feel so stupid about it all. Living my life in a way that considers someone else. Something I’ve never done before. Something that completely backfired as I’m certain it is what turned him off. So I am back here, in Liam’s Bed-Stuy brownstone, trying to rid myself of how foolish I’ve been to be so devoted to someone who I’m likely not even compatible with in an attempt to regain my hedonic nature.

His need to please me allows me to relish in being a lazy lover with him. He’d be wholly satisfied with just tasting the nectar between my legs for a few hours which is usually all I allow him for the mere sake of feeling worshipped. But sometimes I need to be ravished. And he, being far more experienced than I am, understands and takes heed. He can’t bring me to climax, because.. well, because I don’t love him, But I’m fulfilled enough. I wonder if this sort of animalism  is reserved for the men who I don’t see a future with. I imagine being too timid with the man I actually liked to be this uninhibited.  Too  concerned about his pleasure instead of my own. I wonder if love and this sort of sexual indulgence can ever go hand in hand.

But I suppose I’ll never know.

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