The Words That Rub Off, and the Ones That Don’t
Some words feel like impact.
Like when I’m on my knees, his cock down my throat, my face pressed against him—and he grabs my hair and calls me stupid. It’s sharp, jarring. A little cruel. And it drops me instantly. Makes me smaller. Quieter. Like he gave me permission to shut my brain off for a while.
I didn’t know I’d like it. The first time it happened, I flinched. Nobody had ever called me that in this context. But with tears running down my cheeks, something in it just… landed. Felt right.
Stupid rubs off with massage oil and soft words and hands that hold. It lingers, but not in a way that rots.
Some words you carry. Some you can let go.
And some—just for a moment—let you go, too.
