Something about the imploring look in his eyes made her feel vaguely furious. His desire to please her was for some reason incredibly irritating. When he asked her in a soft voice destined to be seductive, “What do you like? What do you want me to do?” she felt anger rising up in her chest and had to swallow fiercely to keep the ugly feeling contained within her. She wanted to lash out, to hurt her new suitor who’s only goal was to satisfy her.”Do you want me to lick you?” he asked with the innocent grin of an adolescent. Although she was well aware of the fact that much of sexuality resides in conversation, that talking beforehand about each other’s needs can certainly help things along, this questionnaire of his was making her come unglued.
She didn’t feel at all pretty or desirable. She felt like an empty hole needing to be ﬁlled. It took all the self-control she could muster up to keep herself from saying, “Listen, I don’t want a shoulder massage, I don’t particularly care if you want to go down on me or not. What I am yearning for is for you to fuck me into a coma. Fuck me until I am clinically brain-dead. Fuck me like you have never fucked anyone else before, fuck me into deep oblivion, into a painless state of being. Fuck me until I am numb and can no longer think. Fuck me until I stop hurting and stop crying and stop scurrying about like an idiotic, overgrown mouse! Fuck me until the sadness inside of me ﬂows out like lava onto the silky sheets and magically disappears.” That was what she wanted to say.
But instead, she just said, “Do whatever makes you happy.”