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On New Year’s Eve, I was at a play party with Sir and his other partner, Sophie. At one point during the night, Sir and Sophie were off together and I was out on the balcony getting some air. My coat was over my lingerie, and the chill felt kind of good on my stockinged legs.

I ended up talking to a guy out there who had seen me playing with Sir earlier and had come over with his partner. Sir had let them touch me a little bit, teasing me as they ran their fingers over my nipples and cheeks.

“So, what,” the guy kind of blurted out, “are you two going to just keep doing this until he takes you out to the suburbs and gets you pregnant?”

I stared at him, incredulous. I could see that between the time he’d played with me and then found me out on the balcony, he was a little drunk.

“No, I don’t know.” I was too shocked to formulate something more articulate. But if I saw him now, I’d say that this isn’t a phase, this isn’t some wild youthful outburst. This isn’t some crazy thing I do to get the guy I’m seeing excited until I can pacify him into settling down.

It’s weird now to try to navigate the scene without Sir. He brought me to my first munch and my first play party. But this is a part of me, and I’m grateful to him for bringing me out of my shell. So I’m ready to keep going and never totally grow out of this.

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