I went out last night to a bar with some people in my graduate cohort. On the way home, I texted Sir to let him know I was headed to bed.
“Did any guys try to hit on you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, “three.”
I was a bit surprised when he texted me back with, “mmmm so hot.”
“That’s hot to you?” I asked, “how is that hot to you?”
“Yeah, guys drooling over my girl,” he replied.
We both kind of get turned on by possessiveness and infidelity. Naturally, it’s not really one of those fantasies you can really do to the hilt, but we talk about it a lot.
I smirked and texted, “one called me sweetie. Like, ‘hey there, sweetie.’”
“Mmm, what an asshole.”
“You love that.”
He called me a pervert. I insisted he was more of one. And so he called me a filthy little girl and a floozy.
“I am not,” I answered as I walked in the door and set my bag down, “I didn’t flirt back.”
“I know. You’re a good girl.”
“Oh yeah?” I teased, “So assured I wouldn’t cheat?”
I’m sincerely glad I’ve found someone just about as fucked up as I am, who isn’t judgmental about some really absurdly messed up fantasies I have.