I have a confession. The man I'm seeing is kind. He makes me tea, asks about my day, and rubs my feet without expecting it to lead anywhere. And it makes me want to be absolutely feral. It makes me want to drag him into the shower, drop to my knees, and suck his cock until he forgets his own name. It makes me want to bite his shoulder hard enough to bruise while he fucks me from behind, whispering all the filthy, degrading things he’d never say out loud. I want to be the beautiful, screaming chaos he tries so hard to keep locked in a box. The best part of a good man isn't his goodness. It's the exquisite corruption of watching it shatter.