Were I a bit more courageous – and if I had a little more spending money – I’d put the third one in my place in a heartbeat.
hairpulling
He’s taunting me about bringing a few surprises when he arrives later today. You all should know there is nothing I hate more ardently than surprises. I don’t like being out of the loop. I don’t like feeling like something is coming and not being sure how I will react to it. Bleh. No.
I was pouting and insisting he tell me when he replied, “some things are for you to wonder and for me to know.”
Unf.
Liking it best like this makes me a filthy girl by default, he says.
It’s sexist
and also a little naive
to assume that all bullies are boys.
It almost looks as if he is embracing her. There’s a definite feeling of sweetness. The way her hand is resting on his side is just absolutely tender. But then you see the way his right hand is pulling and it’s an entirely different story. And, somehow, it all fits perfectly.
I want you to take me right after I’ve gotten out of the shower. I want you to tear the towel from my body, grab a fistful of my wet hair, and throw me onto the bed.
I’ll put up a fight. I’ll pout. I’ll try to explain that I just got clean. Yet I’ll just watch the puddles soak into the sheets from my dripping hair. I’ll moan and bite my lip as my protests become stifled by my growing desire. I’ll squirm and whimper and give myself over to it.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t get just as pouty when you tell me to clean myself back up afterwards.
Sometimes, I get a bigger adrenaline rush from having my hair pulled than I could on a roller coaster.