I’ve been told it’s a problem. But I see it as a passion; something that I’m good at. And who the fuck stops something that they’re good at?
They want me to seek help; get my cock in check. Don’t judge my lifestyle. You’re no better than me. Just admit it, you like to fuck too. Sex is what I do best; my own personal high, so I embrace it instead of being ashamed.
When I’m not fucking, I’m slinging drinks at Walk Of Shame or stripping my way into your bed; another thing I’m good at. Every woman’s darkest fantasy brought to life.
So, am I stopping? Fuck no. Sex is beautiful, raw and erotic and I get off knowing I can have it with anyone I want . . . with the exception of her.
She walks into the club swaying those hips, instantly drawing my cock to attention. She’s pure perfection. That is, until she opens that mouth, drawing me in and for the first time in forever I want something more than sex. I want her and she hates it.
Things get dirty. Dirty is what I like; it’s how I live. But . . . she’s playing a game she can never win.