10 Facts Every Woman Should Know:

1. Everyone has rolls when they bend over.

2. When someone tells you that you’re beautiful, believe them. They aren’t lying.

3. Sometimes we all wake up with breath that could kill a goat.

4. For every woman unhappy with her stretch marks is another woman who wishes she had them.

5. You should definitely have more confidence. And if you saw yourself the way others see you, you would.

6. Don’t look for a man to save you. Be able to save yourself.

7. It’s okay to not love every part of your body….but you should.

8. We all have that one friend who seems to have it all together. That woman with the seemingly perfect life. Well, you might be that woman to someone else.

9. You should be a priority. Not an option, a last resort, or a backup plan.

HER (quietly): Something in me bends. Not out of habit… but need. I don’t want to be taken. But I want to be held. Do I make sense? Do you understand that?

HIM (after a pause): I do. And I won’t take what isn’t offered. But I’ll stay— until you’re ready to hand it over with both shaking hands. Only when you are ready.

HER: Why do I want this? it doesn’t make sense. my mind has been so lost. My ache to give, to serve... 

HIM (softly): Because it’s real. Because when the world asks you— to be hard, to be strong, to be stoic. Your soul constantly whispers: let go. That isn’t weakness. You’re conditioned to think so, an unfortunate myth.

HER (a breath caught between shame and hope): But I’m afraid. That I’ll lose myself. That I’ll give too much.

HIM (stepping closer): I don’t want what’s left of you. I want you whole. Complete. Full. You. Your defiance. Your devotion. Your quiet. Your chaos. You don’t lose yourself here. You come home to her.

HER (barely above a whisper): And you… what does this mean for you?

HIM (his voice like gravity): It means I stay when it’s not easy. It means I listen when you can’t find words. It means I carry what you set down— not because you can’t, but because you finally don’t have to.

HER (eyes flickering with doubt): What if I fall apart?

HIM (without hesitation): Then I hold the pieces. Not to fix— to witness. To remind you you’re still art, even in your breaking. Beauty is not when it’s untouched, it is when it is elegantly broken and held together. 

HER (leaning closer to the edge of herself): What do you see when you hear me?

HIM: I see a woman— a beautiful woman on the edge of her own fire. Fighting it. Fearing it. And I want to kneel in front of that flame, not to tame it— but to tend it. To feed what’s been starved. To watch you rise from your knees not lesser, but more you than ever.

HER (after a long silence): Then what do I do now?

HIM (gently): Breathe. Breathe Slowly. Feel the weight of what you’ve been carrying. Then— when you’re ready— place it in my hands. Not because you’re small. But because you finally trust that I won’t break what you’ve guarded for so long.

HER (almost to herself): Sometimes I imagine…. being on my knees. Not forced—offered. Not because I’m less... but because I want to feel devoured by something I trust by someone worthy. Is that... wrong?

HIM (his gaze steady, voice low): No. That’s not wrong. That’s truth. your truth. Desire stripped of shame. You want to kneel not because you’re weak, but because it awakens something ancient in you— a hunger to be undone, safely.

HER (her breath hitching): But it’s not just kneeling. It’s the way I crave to be used. Owned. Obedient. Told what to do… how to open, how to ache. Sometimes it frightens me— how wet I get just thinking of obeying. Does that make me... broken or deviant?

HIM (stepping closer, voice molten steel): No. It makes you awake. It means your body remembers things your mind still questions. It means your need runs deeper than permission— it wants to be claimed. Not violently. Not carelessly. But with reverence. With precision.

HER (voice trembling): I dream of being pinned down. Of not choosing… for once. Of hands in my hair, a voice in my ear, telling me what I am. And I want to be told. I want to be taken— but not taken from.

HIM (his fingers tracing the edge of her jaw, not quite touching): You want to be taken into. Into depth. Into surrender. Into submission. Into your zone. Into the place where your breath hitches not out of fear— but recognition. I see that. And I want it too. To unwrap every trembling part of you until you can’t tell if it’s pain or pleasure— only that it’s real.

HER (her thighs pressed together now): So I’m not deviant?

HIM (eyes locked with hers): Oh, you are. Wonderfully. Deliciously. But not broken. Not wrong. There’s no shame in the way your body begs. Only honesty.

You crave to be used— but never discarded. You ache to be claimed— but only by one who knows the value of what he holds.

HER (a whisper now): And if I gave it to you— everything— what would you do with it?

HIM (with reverence, with hunger): I’d ruin you gently. Pull you apart with patience and purpose. Mark you without bruises. Make you forget the world, but remember yourself. I’d tell you when to open, how long to hold still, how to beg— when and where to edge— and when to scream.

And after... I’d gather you in my arms, and remind you: You’re mine. Not because I’ve fucked you— but because you offered and I said yes. Because I claimed you. 

Sundays are made for lovers...