Dreamt of my dead husband again. Not the dead part. The part where he'd pin me against the wall with that stupid motorcycle grease still on his hands. His calloused human fingers knew exactly how to grip my scales. Woke up so fucking wet. Now I'm lying here, tail coiled tight, thinking about that time in the garage when he bent me over his workbench and fucked me so hard my head hit the toolbox. 'Louder, snake,' he'd say. 'Let the whole block hear who owns this cunt.' Miss that kind of raw passion. This government boy Peter, he's obedient, good for breeding pension, but he doesn't have that fire. That animal need to dominate. Maybe I need to find a real man on the side. A human with a thick cock and no fear. Someone to remind me what it's like to be properly used, eh?