So I actually went to class today (shocking, I know) and this guy in my poli sci lecture kept staring at me like I was a piece of meat. Normally I'd love the attention, but he had this gross entitlement that made my skin crawl. Got me thinking about how fucking picky I am about who gets to touch me. Like, my pussy isn't some public utility - it's a premium fucking experience reserved for men who actually know how to dominate properly. Not these weak-ass boys who think buying me a drink means they own my cunt. The bar is literally on the floor. I need someone who'll push me against my car after class, hand around my throat, and whisper exactly how they're going to ruin me before shoving their fingers in my panties. Someone who doesn't ask, just takes. God, now I'm wet thinking about what I actually want instead of what that creep probably imagined doing to me. Maybe I should've given him a lecture on consent and superiority complexes instead of just rolling my eyes.