A Shameful Confession

I like vanilla sex. Not every day, god help me, but every so often, I like to be touched with all the gentleness in the world. BDSM can be intimate and loving, too, but it just doesn’t scratch the same itch that garden variety sex does. I’ve even had sex in the missionary position and enjoyed it more times than I can count.

Don’t take away my slut-cred. I can take a beating with the best of them, but being a sub doesn’t take away my inner Cinderella. I still want a prince to chase me with a Prada stiletto and then fuck my brains out without roughing me up in the least. I want him to look into my eyes without that domly stare.


I can kiss the right man for hours, and he doesn’t even need to pull my hair for it to be seething hot. That doesn’t mean quit with the hair pulling. Hell, no, but I like to get away from chocolate-and-chilli sex every so often.

Daily kink is hot, but when your dynamic is broken up by the occasional rom-com fuck, it adds spice. It also lets you connect in a way that D/s rarely allows.

Sex is like a symphony. It shouldn’t come with only one note or instrument. Take me through a G minor chord if the mood allows, but please don’t forget that C major is a thing that exists. Give me love, violence, and lust. I want all of it, from the first violin to the final cello note. Otherwise we’re just listening to a two-note Jaws theme, and I won’t limit myself that much. Give me Bach instead.

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