I want to hook up with a complete stranger, have him absolutely wreck my pssy, and then never speak to him again. No names. No numbers. Just pure, animalistic fcking and then I leave. I don't want to know his name. I don't want to know his life. I just want his d*ck and his stamina.

I’ve had sex that felt more like a performance than anything real. Not in a dramatic way — just… like I was going through the motions. I knew what to do, how to move, what sounds to make. It wasn’t unsafe. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t mine. I wasn’t present for it.

Sometimes I think I was trying to be good at wanting it, not actually wanting it. And after, I’d feel weirdly proud — like I pulled it off — and then this kind of sadness would creep in that I couldn’t name.