Dario tries to care for me like a toddler with her first doll. How did I never notice how awkward he is? I guess our time together was always structured. Dinner. Games. Clear rules and etiquette. He pulled out my chair. Poured my wine. Even sex was somewhat scripted. He put me in position, and I took him. I came if I could get myself off. If I couldn’t get to my clit, I didn’t. He’d kiss me when he was done, and then he’d take a shower. And I was okay with it. More than okay. I was in love. Why? Why is this all I wanted for myself?
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Krysteena
