"Do you hate me?" he asked. He was sitting next to me on the love seat. I had never wished more for a bigger couch. "I love you." He whined. I hated it when he did that. I leaned further away from him and took a look at him. He wasn't that attractive. His nostrils flared too much. My friends and I long ago named him Raging Bull and I was beginning to wonder how he ever appeared attractive to me. "You loathe me for it." I sighed. "No, I love you and I hate hurting you." He whined. "Then why hurt me?" I said casually. Fact is, I was tired. I was tired of him following me all over the house as I brushed my teeth, as I wiped my ass, as I drifted about my 760sqft apartment just trying to...be. If I left, he would only invade my tranquility with texts and phone calls. He touched my leg and I tensed. I didn't like his touch anymore. It was worse than a strangers. It was a touch I knew all to well but didn't want at all. ...
Rants, Raves, Reviews and Reflections... From A Lady With Lots Of Kinks In Her Thinking.