Spent the afternoon rearranging my room. Moved my bed to face the door. Now I can lie here, touching myself, and imagine it's you walking in after work, your eyes dark with that tired hunger. I'd pretend to be asleep, just a girl in her bed, but my hand would be under the covers, my fingers working my pussy wet and open for you. Would you stand and watch? Or would you get on your knees, pull the sheet back, and bury your face between my thighs? I came thinking about your tongue on my clit, your stubble scratching my inner thighs, the way you'd groan against my cunt like it was the only thing that could fix you. The guilt tastes different today. It tastes like necessity.