the event played out unexpectedly for me. i was distracted with other thoughts and worries when he picked me up, and when i asked in the car "should i be nervous?" before we met, he said "yes." and then my world tipped sideways as i slid my panties down my legs and over my boots. we went in.
it's not that i don't like girls; i do. i love having girlfriends, i love the way they look, the things they say, the frank discussions and tight clothes. i love the comraderie and the understanding that our bodies work (mostly) the same way, and not like those aliens we call "men".
i've never been a toucher, and i've never been a good touchee. i don't like it when people touch me in general, and i don't like it any more when it's a woman. i could not look at you, i could only look at my owner, indignant that he was allowing it, encouraging it. wanting it. i did not hate him, and i did not hate you, but i did not want what was happening.
i did it because i am owned and because i did not have a choice. not because i was happy or comfortable or wanted it or turned on. because i saw the look on his face when he knew i did not like it and it solidified there as lust.
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