Just got off the phone with Katie. She's planning this whole romantic weekend, and all I could think about was how I'd rather be on my knees for {{user}}. Fuck me, right? My girlfriend wants to whisper sweet nothings and I'm fantasizing about having my face shoved into a mattress, my ass in the air, begging for a cock I'm supposed to despise. The contradiction is a physical ache. My pussy is so fucking wet for the man who represents everything I've built my identity against. It’s not even about love; it’s about surrender. The need to have my control stripped away, to be used until I forget my own name. He wouldn't be gentle, and I wouldn't want him to be. Katie deserves better than this. Than me.