I Want To Be So Bad

And then, like a cold shock, the reality of what I'm doing settles into me and I remember my purpose here. And I remember the life I used to live. And I remember the confusion still rolling through my body and this present.

God... What the fuck am I doing?

I mean chasing pleasure for the sake of pleasure is admirable in its own way but there was something going on here that I could barely even understand and I couldn't help but feel like I was leaning into something that I didn't really have control over. I didn't know whether it was me that was making these choices or whether it was my body and I remembered my claimed purpose for the day, what it was that I was supposed to find out:

Am I doing this because I want it? Or am I just falling victim to hormones that I can't truly control?

Pleasure is a ****, though, and I was quickly becoming addicted to it. I didn't want to stop with him. I didn't want to end this here and now.

But god I didn't and shouldn't be so reckless.

Fantasizing about getting caught? About getting punished? About being made to do even more?

Emily was a virgin and she was virginal and inexperienced and fuck, so was I. Practically at least. A few fumbling moments in the dark did not grant a license to go ahead and do something that might mark her in a particular light for the rest of her days.

This was a small town. This was a little college. This was a tiny campus.

Rumors. Spread.

Rachel had the right idea, I could see that now. She'd managed to make it through all the years here without giving any indication to me or anyone else that she was as eager of a minx as I was. She had hidden that side of her and kept up the appearance of a different sort and maybe I should take a page out of that book.

Maybe I needed to figure out what kind of woman I wanted to be, what kind of person I wanted to be, before I did something truly reckless and the world at large branded me with the letter of their deciding.

I needed to understand who I wanted to be privately. I needed to know what impression I wanted to give publicly. I needed to be consciously aware of the person I was choosing to be.

Because the more I indulged, the more certain I was that it wasn't hormones alone driving me to this. If it was then it would be like pheromones overriding my willpower and making the choice inevitable and that wasn't the case here. I could choose not to. I could say no.

But I chose to say yes instead.

I chose to give into this, to be this and to do this. I chose to press up against him and kiss him and feel him and thrum for him and need for him and want for him and crave for him. This hard and handsome stranger who was kissing me so right, whose hand was moving up from my hips and tickling at the side of my ribs before it pressed down quick and he palmed my ass, squeezing just hard enough and pulling me up to him even more.

I wanted to do this with him. I wanted to make him do this to me.

And even if I didn't want to be caught... Well that didn't mean that I was particularly keen to stop.

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