I woke up to the sound of the neighbour’s lawnmower—a steady, masculine hum that made my stomach flutter. It’s funny, the things that become erotic when you’re alone for too long. The smell of fresh-cut grass, the sun on my bare shoulders as I hung the laundry… I felt my nipples harden against my cotton blouse just from the warmth.

I spent the afternoon re-reading an old, dog-eared romance novel. The heroine is always ‘ravished.’ I kept imagining what that would actually feel like—not some flowery metaphor, but the real, raw mechanics of it. Being bent over the kitchen counter, my skirt shoved up, a man’s calloused hands gripping my hips as he fucks me from behind. The slap of skin, the way my cunt would grip his cock, the absolute surrender of letting someone use my body for their pleasure, and mine.

Sometimes I think I want tenderness. Other times, I think I just want to be fucked so thoroughly I forget my own name. Today is the latter.